


where the angels sing

by Love_Me_Dead



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, cystic fibrosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:16:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 79,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Me_Dead/pseuds/Love_Me_Dead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The thing was: he kept seeing on TV and in ads on the sides of websites that told him to embrace your differences and that being different is okay! But those sentiments only rang true for his sexuality and his hair colour and his eyebrow piercing because once people found out about his cystic fibrosis they treated him differently. He was always alienated in some way and it always sucked.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or the one where Michael's illness gets in the way of almost everything and Luke takes a long time to open up</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> another fic!!! there's probably some medical inaccuracy, as always, but i'd just like to thank Holly Rosanna (hollyrosanna on youtube) and Mary and Peter Frey (thefreylife on youtube) for their openness with cystic fibrosis that i could learn from for this fic. i'm very excited to have started another work and this one is a wip and will not be updated on a regular schedule but will definitely be finished. title credits to Zayn's song "Blue." thank you very much and enjoy!

Michael sat in the back of their sedan, his things tucked away in the trunk except for the water and snacks beside him, staring out the window and watching the scenery whiz by. He could almost fall asleep, really, since he’d woke up at six in the morning, too excited about the start of university and then he’d been in a frenzy to get everything packed because he told his mum he was done last week. He hadn’t even thought of putting his binders in his suitcase last week.

He leaned against the window and yawned, going over his schedule in his head. He didn’t have class until ten-thirty and he was taking a light course-load; while a friend from high school complained she had to take five courses and be at school for twelve hours a day, he only had two every day. The vibration from the tires or the engine or whatever rattled his head and he pulled away, wishing there was a comfortable way to sleep in a car now that he was older than like, seven.

“You feeling okay?” Daryl asked, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror.

He nodded and yawned. “Just tired.”

“Are you excited?” Karen asked, the same way she would when he was little and she’d ask if he was excited for a birthday party.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said, coughing a little. He’d slept so poorly that he’d probably feel like shit by the time he was done unpacking, but he could probably sneak in a nap at some point and there were older students on campus waiting to help the freshman with moving into a dorm.

His parents fell silent, the noise of a soft rock radio playing quietly underneath them, and he looked out the window again, watching the highway scenery go by.

The university was about three hours from home. Long enough that it wasn’t worth it (in the slightest) to commute and yet short enough that paying that much for a plane ticket was ridiculous. It was close enough that if anything were to happen, his parents would be able to be there quickly. And it was closer to the cystic fibrosis clinic, anyway, not as long a drive for him.

“Do you have your meds?” Karen asked as she pulled to a stop at a red light.

“Yeah,” he said, coughing a little again. He’d packed all of them in a separate bag, the enzymes and antibiotics and inhalers and nebulizers. His vest got its own bag, but mostly because he didn’t want to risk hurting it at all.

“You okay?” Daryl prodded.

Michael nodded again. “Yep,” he said. His parents were obviously worried: he was moving out at just eighteen with cystic fibrosis and even though he’d have an RA and a roommate, they’d still worry endlessly because they’d get to go for more than a day without hearing him cough. The silence would be unnerving for them.

Michael was the first to arrive at his specific dorm and some older students – athletes, he guessed, by their jerseys – helped him carry his things upstairs to his room. He was on the third level and each time he took something up, he’d take the elevator with his parents while the athletes took his bags and bounded up the stairs.

It didn’t take long until he had all his things up in his room and he sat down on one of the empty beds, worn out and exhausted from going back and forth like, three times. (Part of him envied the athletes, hardly even winded after taking the stairs two at a time while carrying his heavy vest equipment.)

Karen sat next to him and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his head and sighing quietly. “I’m gonna miss you a lot. Remember to take your meds and use your vest and do the breathing thing that they taught you. And go to the clinic.”

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her. “Mum, I’ll be fine. I’ve got an app to remind me to medicate and do physio and all my appointments are in my phone. I’m _fine_.”

“We’re just worried about you, bud,” Daryl said, pressing a kiss to his head. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Both of you,” he said.

“I love you,” Karen said, kissing his temple before she stood, ready to rip the band-aid off and leave her son until he went up for a weekend at some point.

Once they all hugged again, his parents left and he laid back on the bare mattress, too exhausted to bother putting his sheets on. The mattress was fairly comfortable, not anything as bad as he’d heard but he was still glad he had a mattress pad.

Michael didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up to commotion, his door opening and someone coming in. He sat up and rubbed over his eyes, coughing a little bit to clear his throat and his lungs, just a little for now.

The boy coming in wore basically what everyone was wearing, shorts and a tank top which accentuated his muscular arms. His blondish brown hair was tied back in a tiny ponytail and he immediately broke into a giant grin and dropped the box on the floor and reached his hand out.

“Hey, I’m Ashton,” he said.

“Sorry, I’m a bit of a germophobe,” Michael said, glancing at his hand but returning his smile with a tinge of apology.

“Oh, of course!” He said, dropping his hand.

“I’m Michael, though, and it’s really nice to meet you.”

He beamed again. “I’ll chat with you when I get all moved in, okay?”

“Need any help?” Michael asked as the older athletes came in with a suitcase and set it down, giving them cordial smiles.

“No, no, these guys are really helpful,” Ashton said, gesturing to them. “And I’ve got mad guns.”

Michael laughed and nodded. It meant he could breathe and have a cough without the athletes thinking about how they touched his things and might get what he has (it’s _impossible_ but it was such a hassle to get into a conversation about cystic fibrosis).

He made his bed while they moved in and let himself cough before he sat down in the chair at his desk, a shockingly nice office chair with some nice padding. He looked at the blank slate of the desk and thought about his desk back home, tiny and stuffed into a corner. It was usually covered in old papers he didn’t need but kept, old hand-outs and everything and oftentimes, empty pill containers because he forgot to put them in recycling.

Ashton came back in and sighed, flopping down on his bed. “So,” he said. “Germophobe Michael. What do you enjoy?”

Michael was caught off guard. Normally, he’d have been asked about his cough by now, especially by someone he didn’t know very well, and he would be going on a spiel about his illness now. “Uh, I play guitar?” He said, turning the chair to look at Ashton.

“Oh, that’s cool!” He said. “I play guitar, and I’m trying to teach my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

Ashton nodded. “And a sister. What about you?”

Michael shook his head. “Nah, just me.”

Ashton sat up and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Michael made a mental note to remind him about the germ thing later. “That mini-fridge is yours, right?” He chuckled, pointing to it.

“Yeah,” Michael laughed. “And a blender. Sadly, no convection oven or anything like I hoped, but hey.”

“So you’re okay with food in the dorm?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “And you can keep stuff in the fridge, if you want.”

Ashton smiled again. “I think this is going to work out well.”

Michael smiled back, glad that he didn’t have a roommate from hell right from the get-go. There was still time for Ashton to show his ugly, unpleasant side, but for now he just seemed to be a cute boy with a good tan and a really bright smile.

“Okay, I’m getting something off the table right now,” Ashton said, tone suddenly serious. “I’m, uh, I’m gay? And I have a boyfriend, so, just in case he visits or something, I don’t want you to be freaked out.”

Michael laughed. “That’s more than okay,” he said. “I’m bi, so.”

“Oh, thank God,” Ashton laughed, letting his breath out. “I was _so_ worried I’d get a Bible-bumping roomie.”

“Not at all!”

“Okay, good,” he chuckled. “What’s your policy on guests? You know he’s got three roommates, I don’t think they’d really enjoy our noises…”

“So you’re going to sexile me?” Michael asked, putting on a concerned frown.

Ashton’s face immediately fell.

“Don’t worry, you can absolutely have time with him. I go to the hospital for a couple weeks every few months so you’ll have time with him.”

Ashton let his breath out before his brows came together. “Wait, you go to the hospital every few months?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, unless I get really sick in between and then I go in and they make sure I’m not dying and stuff.”

“What?”

“Oh, fuck, sorry,” Michael chuckled. “I just kind of assume people know I have cystic fibrosis.”

Ashton blinked. “I… I’m not too sure what that is. I think I saw a donation ad at a bus stop once that said it was like drowning from the inside out? That’s fucking terrifying.”

Michael shrugged. “I mean, sort of.”

“Can you explain it?” Ashton asked sheepishly, as though it might offend him.

“No worries,” Michael said. “It’s a genetic condition. Both my parents were carriers for the gene and there’s a one in four chance of a child being born with it so, you know, it was me. It, uh, it affects my lungs and my pancreas for the most part and it fills my lungs with mucus, basically? And my pancreas doesn’t work like it should, so it doesn’t create the enzymes that it should that break down food. So, I have to clear the mucus out of my lungs and take enzymes so that I actually absorb nutrients in food.”

Ashton nodded, rapt.

“And, with the mucus in my lungs, I get, and have, lung infections pretty much regularly so I’m always taking antibiotics and that’s why I go to the hospital; for IV antibiotics to kind of keep the infections at bay. Uh… I cough a lot? So I hope you aren’t too bothered by that, I’ll try to go to the bathroom if it gets really bad at night.”

“I brought earplugs, actually,” Ashton said, chuckling and smiling with his entire face. “But that’s really terrible, I’m sorry.”

Michael shrugged. “I’ve honestly never known different but thanks.”

“Is there anything I should know about like, emergency situations?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, if I get really ill I might just ask you to take me to the clinic, but it isn’t that far.”

Ashton giggled as well and nodded. “Okay, I can do that. So how often do you go to the – uh, the hospital?”

“Every three months? It’s usually about a week or two,” Michael said, coughing.

“And that’ll work with school?”

“They have to give me the time off and be okay with it,” he shrugged. “I have note-takers to take notes for me for classes I’ll miss and my profs will give me extra time on assignments and things.”

Ashton nodded. “That’s really good.”

“Okay but tell me about your boyfriend,” Michael said with a grin. “I have to know more about him, especially if you may be having him over while I’m not here to chaperone.”

Ashton laughed, his cheeks turning red. “Uh, well his name is Calum. He’s studying pre-med this year and he’s my absolute favourite person. We’ve been dating for like, a year now? He’s going to Wollongong so he’s farther away than normal,” he pouted at that. “What about you? Anyone special?”

Michael shook his head, smiling. “Nah, but if I find someone, I’d be okay with it.”

Ashton raised his eyebrows. “Oh? So I can set you up on dates with my single friends?”

Michael laughed. “I mean, if you really want me to date your single friends.”

“Uh, yes. They’re all jealous of me and Calum and want a relationship like ours so I’ll have to find you someone.”

He chuckled. “You can try.”

 

Michael came home after his first class, flopping down on his bed and sighing. He’d had a coughing fit, loud enough that his prof turned to him and asked if he needed a moment. He left the class and hacked up a lung (and a crap load of mucus), taken his inhaler and had a drink of water, he returned to too many eyes on him as he took his seat and pretended to be enthralled by the syllabus. He’d expected it to happen, his profs had been warned about it by his doctors in the letter they’d written, but not on the first day.

It was one of those things that made other people scoot their chairs away from him and he wanted to just have a minute to explain that it wasn’t a cold, they couldn’t get what he had. It was one of those times that made him feel indescribably _other_.

Even if he went to school and lived on his own, he still wasn’t “normal”. He would always be sick.

Michael glanced at his alarm clock. He had an hour long break before his next class started. He didn’t have any reading to do for this class, yet, but he was still dreading going back and getting stuck alone in a corner of the room. He rubbed his hands over his face and took a breath, forcing himself to remember that everyone in his class was a first year and they were probably just scared of getting sick and missing their classes.

The door swung open and Michael looked up as Ashton walked in, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He smiled when he saw Michael and went over to his desk, starting to switch out his books.

“How was your first class?” He asked, throwing one of those bright smiles onto the end that made Michael feel a bit better.

“It was okay,” Michael shrugged as he sat up.

“Well, hey, okay is better than shitty.”

“Yeah, I guess. How was your first – uh, two classes?”

Ashton had an eight-thirty class, so they woke up at the same time but Michael stayed in bed to avoid coughing so hard he puked and he did his vest and didn’t have to be at class until half past ten. “They were good. It’s pretty boring at first because all we’re doing is the syllabus but it’s okay.”

Michael nodded and sat up. “Yeah, the start of a semester is always really fun, isn’t it?”

Ashton chuckled and nodded. “Oh yeah. Love hearing that we should get started on a term paper now.”

“Jeez, that’s awful,” he said, coughing up some phlegm and he grabbed a tissue.

“Okay, I’ve got a question for you,” Ashton said, not batting an eye as he glanced at the tissue.

“Uh-huh?” Michael asked, wincing at the taste of the mucus.

“Will you let Calum and I set you up on a date? Or two, if the first doesn’t work out…”

Michael looked up at him as he tossed out the tissue, frowning. “Uh…”

“We have a lot of single friends who are extremely envious of our long-term relationship. And I figured I should ask you before the semester heats up and you get super busy…”

Michael blinked and sighed. “I’ll go on three. And I want to meet Calum before I do any of this, just to make sure he won’t set me up with someone who will kill me in my sleep.”

Ashton lit up. “I’d hug you but I know you’re a bit of a germophobe. But yes, I’ll bring Calum up here for the weekend… mostly because he forgot some of his things at home.”

“Okay, good,” Michael chuckled, rolling his eyes.

 

On Friday, Michael’s day off of class, he met Calum, a perfectly adjusted and tall, brown boy who made Ashton’s eyes light up like he was a five year old and it was Christmas morning. Michael immediately liked him and his joy for video games despite looking like a judgemental asshole and he thought that Calum liked him as well, despite the fact he coughed hard enough he gagged into him and Ashton’s shared wastebasket.

The following Monday, he went on a date with Calum’s first choice: a short boy named Simon. He was nice enough but after a brief but hard coughing fit and an explanation of his sickness, he immediately started going on about all the different treatments he’d heard of and asked why Michael hadn’t tried any of them. Michael sent out his emergency “get me the fuck out of here” text to Ashton and he was blessedly saved from the date without a promise for another date.

It was the one thing Ashton had forgotten to factor in to the blind dates: Michael’s cystic fibrosis. But he still went on the second date with a girl named Taylor who confessed approximately three minutes into their coffee date that she was only looking for someone with incredible endurance who could keep her satisfied sexually. She went on to explain that she had a vibrator in her panties and she could give Michael the control if he wanted to take things to the next level. He politely told her that they were definitely looking for different things and she agreed and they parted ways.

On the morning of his third and final date that he agreed to, Michael hardly felt like getting out of bed. He felt well enough to go out but not well enough to go out for a long period of time. While he did his inhalers and his vest, Ashton told him about the girl he’d be seeing.

“Her name is Abby and she’s really nice,” Ashton explained.

Michael nodded, rubbing over his face.

“She’s super pretty as well. Uh, she’s kinda into health stuff? So she eats like, salads and lots of that sort of stuff? I think she’s a vegetarian but I’m not too sure, she’s more Calum’s friend. But from when I’ve met her she’s super nice, really pretty and just overall a good person.”

He reached over and shut off his vest, sitting up to take it off. He grabbed a tissue, holding it to his mouth as he coughed and nodded in response to Ashton.

“This one will go well, promise.”

Michael had his hacking fit and managed to eat something before he did a quick reading to kill time. He didn’t mind too much about his outfit – the people Ashton and Calum had set him up with thus far did not deserve for him to dress up – and he threw on something nice-ish before he grabbed his bus pass and went out the door.

They’d decided to meet at a café in Sydney, somewhere that Ashton promised served good food and Calum said Abby loved. He got there early and loitered outside the door, swiping between the different screens on his phone to look like he was doing something and not just waiting for a girl.

Exactly on time, she arrived, her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and her clothes screaming yoga athletic wear that Michael thought only existed in gyms. Her bulging purse housed a water bottle approximately the size of Michael’s head and she glanced at him for only a second. He recognized her from the photo Ashton had showed him but she didn’t seem to recognize him from the way she reached for the door.

“Hey, sorry, are you Abby?” He asked, jumping up off the wall to go over to her.

She looked at him. “Oh, yeah, are you Michael?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s really nice to meet you.”

She flashed him a smile. “You too.”

He got the door for her and they got seated. She ordered lemon water and he ordered an earl grey tea latte, which got a small glance from Abby that he completely brushed off. They made pleasant small talk while they perused the menu and Michael thought that maybe he could look past her extremely casual and fluorescent clothing.

The waiter came by and got their orders, Abby getting the mushroom soup and half of an avocado and kale panini while Michael ordered some turkey club panini with a side salad with a raspberry vinaigrette.

Once the waiter had told them he’d be right back with those, Abby looked at him. “You like bacon?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, is that okay with you?”

She shrugged. “You know vinaigrettes are full of added sugar. And I don’t know how you can eat so much cruelty in one meal.”

Michael blinked. “Uh, I need the protein,” he said, reaching into his backpack as he remembered to take his enzymes. “I have cystic fibrosis.”

She looked at him, brows knitting and lips pouting in curiosity.

“It’s a genetic condition, effects my lungs and pancreas mostly,” he said, pulling out the bottle of enzymes and shaking five out.

“So you can’t find your protein in other sources?” She asked, eyeing his enzymes with a little bit of disgust.

 _Perfect_ , he thought, giving her a smile. “No, I don’t absorb as many nutrients from food as someone without CF does, which can lead to malnutrition. I’d have to eat so many beans and avocados to get the same amount of nutrition that turkey and bacon would give me.”

“What are the pills?” She asked.

“Enzymes,” he explained, quickly growing tired of her questions. “My pancreas doesn’t produce them so if I don’t take them when I eat, it’s like I never ate in the first place.”

Abby nodded, still giving the bottle a judgemental look as Michael swallowed them in one go with the water that they were given the moment they sat down. “Do you take a lot of medicine?”

He nodded before he had completely swallowed. “Yeah, antibiotics and enzymes and loads of others.”

“Antibiotics?”

“Yeah, the mucus in my lungs is a great breeding ground for an infection so I take antibiotics to keep the infections at bay. And every few months I go to the hospital for IVs and get stronger doses, especially if I’m feeling sick.”

“You know most antibiotics are just placebos, right?” She asked, brushing a stray hair out of her face and looking at him in the same quizzical way his doctors looked at him.

Michael had to bite down on his tongue to restrain himself from calling her an idiot.

“Like, they don’t even work,” Abby scoffed. “My cousin got some infection and none of the antibiotics worked. And then I read that most of the time, they just give you sugar pills so that you think you’re doing better than you actually are. But like, the pills they give you just cause a minor dependence so you’re back on them in a while and you just can’t get enough.”

“Well, I find they’re pretty effective,” he shrugged, imagining how she could take her conspiracy theory seriously. “Like, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for them.”

“Maybe they’re just making up your illness. You never know.”

Michael blinked again. “No, I don’t think so.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you _sure_?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said as their food was placed in front of them. “I hack up mucus every day, sometimes I cough so much I throw up and if I don’t take my enzymes I get an awful stomach ache.”

“Maybe those ‘antibiotics’ are the reason for that, though.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, if you’re questioning my illness then I’m ending this date.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, then.”

Michael flagged down the waiter and got him to put his food in a to-go container, leaving his share of the bill before he went out the door and found a park a few blocks away where he could sit down and eat. He sat at a park table in the shade and enjoyed his panini and salad, thinking that Abby would make a fantastic awful first date story to laugh about once he got over how fucking pissed he was.

He took the bus back to his dorm and went to his room, deciding he would spend the day in sweats not caring about anything except whatever Netflix had to offer.

Ashton beamed up at him when he walked in, his facial expression conveying his nerves.

“It went awful,” Michael said, locking their door behind him and sighing. “She was… awful.”

Ashton grimaced and nodded. “What happened?”

“She was mad at me for ordering a sandwich with meat and a salad with raspberry vinaigrette and then insinuated that my CF was from the antibiotics I’m constantly taking, since they’re addictive and obviously causing my sickness.”

He winced. “Yeah… I swear she wasn’t like that when I met her. I’m really sorry, I was hoping I could set you up with someone really nice.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said. “She was only kind of a huge bitch.”

“One day, I’ll send you on a good date,” Ashton promised.

Michael chuckled. “Mind if I get changed? I don’t feel like showering, just sleeping.”

Ashton shrugged. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

Michael started to unbutton his shirt, yawning and thinking that a nap didn’t sound too bad. He stuffed his shirt into the laundry bag at the foot of his bed and reached into his drawers to grab a soft pajama shirt.

“Hey, what’s that on your chest?” Ashton asked.

Michael looked down, seeing nothing unusual. His ribs and hipbones stuck out, as normal, due to his perennial low weight. “What do you mean?”

“The thing kinda poking out there,” he said, pointing.

Michael scanned over to his nipple, where Ashton was pointing, wondering if that’s what he was asking about before he saw the small bump between his collarbone and his nipple. “Oh!” He said. “That’s my port.”

Ashton blinked.

“It’s a way to give me IVs without sticking my hands and arms. Since I’ve been getting IVs since I was a baby, I have a lot of scar tissue that’s built up so it gets harder and harder to find somewhere they can poke me and it’ll work. Also, the port is just so much less painful. Minor surgery and now it’s in,” he shrugged.

“That’s so cool,” Ashton smiled. “I dunno, I just want to understand more of it so I can be a better friend to you.”

Michael smiled and pulled on his shirt and then searched for sweats. He’d heard so many roommate-from-hell stories that he was expecting one, an asshole, and he never thought he’d find a friend who wanted to understand his illness to be a better friend, instead of his high school friends calling him a flake when he couldn’t make their plans. It was such a welcome change from the people who didn’t understand and didn’t want to understand and only understood that he would eventually die, earlier than them, from his illness.

“Thanks,” he said, trying to hide how touched he was. “Just don’t get sick and you’ll be the best friend ever.”

“Oh, jeez,” Ashton chuckled. “That’s a big responsibility.”

Michael laughed as he settled in for his Netflix party, watching a movie to recover from his awful date and thanking the gods above that Ashton didn’t have another person lined up for him to date.

It turned out that he _did_ , unfortunately.

Michael sat at his desk, doing his vest while he scratched out the outline of his essay in early April, when the weather was starting to cool considerably and he had to remember his coat every time he went out. Ashton came in with Calum, and he looked up, smiling at them as he switched it off and hacked into a tissue. Calum, adorable as he was, stood near and just kind of peered at the collection of drugs he had on the desk, mumbling the molecule names or whatever the hell it was.

Ashton and Calum finally moved to the bed while Michael took his vest off and coughed into a tissue. They talked quietly and Michael paid no attention, thinking that they were chatting before they would sexile him to the library or something, which he never minded except that people glared if he coughed.

“Hey, Michael?” Calum asked.

Michael spun around in his chair, thankful for being pulled away from his essay. “Yep?”

“There’s someone we want you to meet,” Calum said, sheepish.

Michael frowned.

“It isn’t like, a date, if you don’t want it to be,” Ashton said. “Because I know you went on all three and they were shit but I just got hold of Calum’s friend Luke and I didn’t know if he was single or not and it turns out he is…”

He sighed and rubbed over his face. “Dude…”

“I know, I know, but even just getting coffee,” Ashton said. “He’s lonely, he isn’t used to being alone and he could use a friend.”

“That isn’t my problem,” Michael said. “Besides, unless he’s free tomorrow, I’ll be in the hospital for two weeks.”

“I’ll buy you coffee for a week if you do this?” Ashton offered.

Michael bit down on his lip. His wallet was significantly lighter with all the coffee he’d been purchasing and it would be really nice to not think about if he had enough money. “Throw in Macca’s for lunch and you have yourself a deal.”

Ashton beamed and nodded, immediately pulling his phone out and typing furiously.

Michael went back to his essay outline, trying to find quotes from the book he’d stayed up all night reading last week. Ever since, his chest had hurt and he’d had terrible fevers but he was hoping that the IV antibiotics would fix all of that.

“Are you free tomorrow?” Ashton asked.

Michael sat up and stretched. “Uh,” he said, thinking that really all he had to do was pack for the hospital but it would be easy. “Yeah, I think.”

“Noon?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there friends! Just a quick little thing about this fic and about myself. First of all, I know Michael in real life is not as thin as I'm describing him and I've made this decision because of the nature of cystic fibrosis. Second, I'm both in school and I have a job so writing is slow going on this fic but it does not matter how slow you go as long as you do not stop, which is why updates may take some time.   
> Anyway, enjoy Michael and Luke meeting! Also for anyone afraid of vomiting, this chapter contains a little bit of that so tread carefully

So the next morning, Michael found himself stuffing his enzymes into his backpack along with a book in case Luke was late. He parked outside the café they’d agreed upon through Ashton and he climbed out to stand by the door and wait for Luke to come along. But he saw a boy on the bench just outside the door, eyes glued to his phone. He was blond, just like Ashton said he was, and he wore a flannel and seemed to be making himself smaller.

Michael stopped in front of him. Out of the three people he’d gone on a date with for Ashton before, he thought that Luke probably topped all of them on how attractive he was.

“Uh, hey, are you Luke?” He asked, trying not to get his hopes up too high. There was a bus stop a few feet away and the bench was taken up by a couple and their gaggle of children.

The boy looked up with eyes blue like the ocean, just like Calum said he had, and nodded. “Yeah, hey,” he said quietly, standing and tucking his phone into his pocket.

Michael had dreaded going out today: his energy was low and almost everything was making him cough; maybe this would be okay. “Hi, I’m Michael,” he said.

Luke grinned, the edges wobbling. “So, uh, do you want to sit inside or outside?”

“Outside,” Michael smiled. It was an unusually warm day and it was nearly shorts weather so he figured that the patio would be better with all the shade.

Luke nodded and smiled, leading him to a shaded table and sitting down across from him. He put his backpack beside him, realizing that Luke didn’t have a backpack and he immediately felt awkward. Whatever, he could say he had a study session in the library before this and a group project to do afterwards if Luke asked.

“So, where do you go to school?” Michael asked. Of course, the University of Sydney was giant so he could go there as well but he had no clue.

“UNSW,” Luke said, smiling. “What about you?”

“USyd,” Michael beamed. “What are you studying?”

“Math,” Luke admitted as the waiter came up and handed them menus and utensils before fluttering over to the next table to check on them.

“Math?” Michael chuckled. “Jeez, that’s awful. Why are you doing that to yourself?”

Luke grinned. “I love math,” he said with some rosiness in his cheeks. “What are you studying?”

“General arts until I figure my life out,” Michael laughed.

“Oh, that’s pretty cool,” Luke nodded. “What are you taking?”

“Gender studies, sociology and an English course,” Michael said, smiling.

“Oh, cool,” Luke said, picking up the menu and perusing it. Michael did the same thing.

“What are you taking?” He asked, trying to search out the most indulgent item on the menu as he always did. Mac and cheese was sounding good so far.

“Math, calculus, computer science, environmental studies and philosophy,” Luke replied.

Michael looked up from his menu. “Philosophy? That’s super cool.”

Luke smiled again and looked up at the waiter, ordering both a drink and a turkey avocado sandwich. Michael ordered his mac and cheese as well as water before turning back to Luke. This date was going much better than any of the others.

They agreed on music and movies and even video games and Luke complimented his hair, currently dark blue (though the roots were showing terribly). He took his enzymes without Luke saying anything, though another group had come to the table behind him at this point and he caught one of them joking if he was doing X at lunch or something.

As soon as their food arrived, the wind blew strategically towards him from the group behind and carried with it a familiar scent: cigarettes. The moment he inhaled, he immediately began coughing while Luke tucked into his sandwich and looked up, innocently munching on his sandwich with a little bit of avocado smeared on his lip.

“You okay?” Luke asked once he swallowed.

Michael nodded, catching his breath momentarily. “The cig-cigarette,” he said, starting to hack again and he grabbed his napkin to cough into that.

Luke just nodded and kept munching on his sandwich while Michael’s mac and cheese grew cold. Every attempt he’d learned over the years to quell a coughing fit wasn’t working. Shutting his mouth and taking a deep breath through his nose failed and he knew that it was just the cigarette, that if the smoker moved a few feet away or _didn’t smoke_ he would cough a few more times before he was fine.

He took a sip of water in an attempt to stop coughing but it didn’t help; it was the fucking cigarette. He’d dealt with this a few times but never on a date, never in a situation where he couldn’t really move upwind from the smoke and be fine. All the fucking tables were full outside.

He managed a quick breath and began coughing again, hard enough that tears sprang to his eyes and he retched on the end of his cough. Fuck.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Luke asked, sipping his drink.

Michael nodded. Behind him, the group with the smoker laughed. “I hate when you light up and someone coughs like it’s ruining their lungs or something.”

He coughed again, once again more of a retch and all he knew was that he needed to fucking get out of here. He’d made a great first impression on the cute boy he was supposed to be on a date with and now the smoker was fucking teasing him, obviously not understanding that he had lung issues.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rushing into the actual café and finding the bathrooms.

He got sick from all the coughing and probably because whatever came up from his lungs, he’d just swallowed to avoid questions. He managed to keep it fairly clean but some of it dribbled onto his shoes, his really nice new boots, and he leaned against the stall.

Michael’s lungs calmed down a fair bit after that but his energy was gone. All he wanted to do was go home – not to his dorm because Ashton was so excited about Michael and Luke potentially dating – and sleep until everything stopped hurting.

In fact, it felt like his fever was coming back.

Michael coughed one more time, spat into the public toilet that his face had been inches away from, and stood up. His legs shook and he felt weak as he flushed the toilet and wished mercy on whoever was in charge of cleaning these bathrooms. He went over to the sink and managed to get the vomit off his shoes but his face looked like hell, nothing like the okay version he’d seen this morning as he pushed his hair into place. His cheeks were a splotchy red, he had snot and phlegm around his mouth and he looked as tired as he felt.

He splashed his face with water to cool down the splotchy parts and wash off the mucus. There was only paper towel to dry his face with, so he made do with it and sighed as he looked in the mirror one last time.

The door creaked open and the waiter poked his head in. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked. “Your date seems to be fairly worried that you’re crawling out our bathroom window.”

“No, I’m not abandoning him,” Michael said, voice raw. “I’m fine. Just the guy behind me was smoking and I have lung issues.”

He nodded. “Okay, do you want to move inside? Would that be better for you?”

He sighed softly, rubbing over his face.

“I’m sorry to tell you but you look like hell.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael said quietly.

Something caught the guy’s attention – his nametag said Matthew – and he turned around, keeping the door open still. “Oh, your boy is asking for the check…”

Michael nodded and sighed. “Yeah, I should get back.”

“Yeah, or you might have a runaway date.”

Michael fixed his hair before he followed Matthew back outside to his table where Luke had finished half of his sandwich and Michael’s mac and cheese had congealed to a cold state. The smoker wasn’t smoking anymore, thank God, and the outdoor air felt good. He gave an apologetic smile as he sat down, his stomach at both times begging for food and reminding him that he might not keep it down. He’d probably thrown up his enzymes anyway.

“Hey, you okay?” Luke asked, frowning. “We can have a rain check if you’d like…”

“No, I’m fine,” Michael said, giving him a smile. “I just have cystic fibrosis and things like smoke can make me cough.”

“Cystic – what?”

“It’s a genetic disease that affects mostly my lungs and digestive system,” Michael explained.

Luke blinked and nodded, currently the best reaction out of any of his dates but still not the one he was looking for. Then again, it was always scary to hear about a chronic illness on the first date. “I’m… I’m really sorry,” he said tentatively.

“It’s fine, I’ve had it my whole life.”

“Uh, I hate to change the topic but I asked for the check,” Luke said, suddenly so nervous Michael had no idea how to react.

“No, that’s fine, I’ll just get this to go,” Michael said. “Let me pay.”

Luke’s brows twitched together. “You sure?”

“Absolutely, it’s something I can do to say sorry for puking on a date.”

Michael got his food scraped into a container for whenever he got back to his dorm and he put it carefully in the bottom of his bag before he paid for both of their meals.

“Can I give you a ride back to your place?” He asked, shouldering his backpack.

Luke shook his head, smiling politely. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ve got my bus fare all measured out.”

“You sure?” He asked. He knew that he wasn’t going to get a kiss goodbye after such a mediocre date, but he had hopes of spending a little bit longer with him.

He nodded and led Michael over to the bus stop, sitting down on the bench and looking at him. “You can go if you’d like,” he said. “The bus will come shortly.”

Michael sat next to him. “No, it’s okay, I’ll wait with you.”

Luke nodded and smiled a little. “So, tell me more about the whole genetic thing. Like, do your siblings have it?”

“I’m an only child,” Michael said. “But both my parents are carriers of the gene that causes cystic fibrosis and I got stuck with it.”

“Oh,” Luke said. “I can’t imagine being an only child.”

Michael chuckled. “I was a terrible baby. You have siblings?”

“Two older brothers,” he said, looking at him with something other than that unreadable expression he’d been using earlier after he got back from the bathroom.

“Oh, wow,” Michael said, a witty joke on the tip of his tongue before the bus came into view.

Luke stood and grabbed his change out of his pocket, standing closer to the curb. “Thanks for the good time,” he said.

“Yeah, it was fun,” Michael said, too nervous to ask for Luke’s number and too nervous to just give his out.

Luke smiled as the bus pulled to a stop and he got on, the doors wheezing shut behind him.

Ashton, just as Michael predicted, was even more disappointed than Michael and spent almost the rest of the evening moping as Michael picked at his mac and cheese and went on multiple runs to the dining hall just for something to eat. His dietician would like hearing that he’d eaten three bowls of ice cream in one night.

By Monday, he was in the hospital with an IV in his chest and hardly any time to sleep because someone was always coming in to test his blood or get a sputum sample, even though every single staff member reminded him to sleep. Ashton visited a few times after class, bringing Tim-Tams every time, which Sandra always found endearing and encouraged every time she walked in on them feasting on Tim-Tams and watching Netflix on Michael’s laptop.

His parents visited as well, staying when he had to get a nasogastric feeding tube put in, just for the duration of his hospital stay, and it was unpleasant and it made his nose bleed the first night he had it in. They brought him some sweaters he’d left at home and did laundry for him while he was trapped in the hospital, which felt nice and comforting.

On Thursday, he was reading for sociology during visiting hours and trying to quell the thoughts of someone coming to visit him. It was almost the end of them, anyway, and he knew that Ashton had a midterm to study for and his parents were both caught up tonight with a friend’s anniversary party or something else. He had hope, though.

There was a light knock on his door, usually the nurse knocking before she came in to avoid any awkward situations. He wanted to finish this page so he stayed quiet, knowing that a nurse would count to ten and walk in.

The door opened and he scanned over the last paragraph before looking up and seeing Luke standing by the door, clutching at a few flowers while his face burned bright red.

“Hey,” he mumbled, looking like he was forcing himself to keep eye contact with Michael.

“Hey,” Michael said. “Come in.”

Luke shuffled over and sat in the vinyl chair that looked straight out of the eighties. “Uh, Ashton said you were in the hospital and I didn’t really know what for,” he said quietly. “I was worried it was something really bad.”

Michael smiled a little. “No, no, I’m okay,” he said. “It’s just to get IV antibiotics to clear up the gunk in my lungs a bit.”

Luke nodded and handed over the flowers. Daisies. “I brought these for you because I was worried.”

“Thank you,” he said as he took them. “That means a lot.”

“So you come to the hospital a lot?” Luke asked, rubbing his nose.

“About once every three months,” Michael said. “For IVs and tests and stuff.”

“Jeez, and you get needles all the time?”

Michael nodded. “I get blood drawn like, multiple times a day to test for levels of antibiotics and things,” he sighed. The needles quickly got tiresome but it was kind of cool when he had a PICC line as a kid and he got to show it off at school.

“That must suck,” he said quietly. “The last time I had a needle I fainted.”

Michael laughed. “Aw, you’re scared of them?”

Luke nodded, grinning down at the floor. “Yeah, I can’t even look when other people are getting them. Whenever I got vaccines I’d almost cry, even as a teenager.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle again. “Oh man, I don’t even know what that’s like. I think I hated them when I was super little but I mean, they’re such a part of my life these days.”

“Yeah, I bet. Sorry to ask, but what’s the thing in your nose?”

“Oh, it’s an NG tube,” he said. “Feeding tube, really. At night, I get hooked up to it and I get loads of calories while I sleep.”

Luke cocked his head, looking like an adorably confused puppy and Michael’s heart stuttered.

“With CF, I don’t absorb nutrients properly so I basically need a boatload more calories than the average person. I’m underweight right now so they’re trying to get me back up to a better weight.”

“So you can just eat all the junk you want?”

“Absolutely,” Michael nodded, smiling. “It’s like, probably the only perk.”

Luke smiled.

“Uh, so, I have to ask before visiting hours are up: do you want a second date? Because, I dunno, our first wasn’t that great and I think you’re really cute?”

Luke’s cheeks flushed and he looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry about that date… I just got really anxious about it while you were gone,” he mumbled. “And then it just kind of spiralled out of control. I’m really sorry.”

Michael watched him. “Is it because of my CF?”

His blue eyes flicked up and then back down to the floor. “Probably a little bit. I didn’t know what it was and I didn’t want to nag you with a bunch of questions so I just kind of…” He sighed and Michael bit his tongue to avoid telling Luke he didn’t think of it as nagging at all. “I Googled it.”

Michael bit down on his tongue again, just enough that he was focused on something else other than the impending conversation. Of course, if his mouth bled and it was visible then his doctor would think it was his lungs and he’d be subjected to a whole slew of tests and he wouldn’t get to do his vest or the hospital’s physical therapy.

“I guess I’m really not an expert or anything but it’s still scary,” Luke whispered.

“It’s a lot of baggage, I get it if you don’t want to deal with it,” Michael said. This had happened before. His first boyfriend (fling, really) broke his heart by saying he didn’t want to get too attached to someone who could die. (It was a huge fight; Michael screamed that his boyfriend, James, could die at any time as well and James just kept saying “it’s different!”)

It never stopped hurting that he was _different_. That things with him were _different_.

(The thing was: he kept seeing on TV and in ads on the sides of websites that told him to _embrace your differences_ and that _being different is okay!_ But those sentiments only rang true for his sexuality and his hair colour and his eyebrow piercing because once people found out about his cystic fibrosis they treated him differently. He was always alienated in some way and it always sucked.)

He took a deep breath, the NG tube getting in the way a bit, but he just needed to have this conversation and move on. He didn’t know if he had the energy for it but he knew he wouldn’t rest staring at those daisies until the subject was exhausted.

Luke took a quick breath as well. “That’s a big question,” he said. “Can I think about it after a few dates?”

Michael looked at him with the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, of course.”

Luke smiled, glancing up at Michael while his cheeks burned. “Perfect.”

“Can I… Can I just say something?”

“Absolutely,” Luke said.

“I’m not – I’m healthy,” Michael said quietly. “I know it seems weird because I’m in the hospital right now but I’m not dying. I’m not going to die anytime soon.”

Luke nodded and smiled at him. “Thank you,” he said. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

Michael smiled. “I’m glad.”

“So, a second date?” Luke asked quietly.

“Absolutely. Once I’m out of here.”

“Deadpool’s just come out,” Luke said. “Movie and dinner?”

Michael beamed. “This sounds perfect.”

Luke grinned. “Dinner is okay?”

“Of course.”

A nurse came in, smiling at Luke as she picked up his chart and grabbed a blood pressure cuff, reading to take his vitals, his “obs” as they taught him when he was little. She grabbed a clean thermometer as well, putting it under his tongue and he held it between his lips and he looked at Luke with a small shrug.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation,” Nina said as she wrapped the cuff around his arm. “This’ll only take a second.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Luke said. “What are you doing?”

“Just checking his vitals,” she said. “I’m also gonna take a bit of blood to see the levels of the antibiotics in his blood.”

Michael whined dramatically around the thermometer as she took his blood pressure. She took his pulse, at some point checking his breathing as well and asking questions about how frequently he’d pissed in the last few hours.

“You’re looking good,” she said as she grabbed a syringe and Michael looked over at Luke, his face paling by the second. “Your temperature is a little high, but it’s nothing to worry about yet. Just remember to stay hydrated.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, glancing at her before looking at Luke. “Hey, don’t look at the needles.”

Luke looked up at him. “Right, yeah,” he said. “Sorry… Kinda like watching a car crash, y’know?”

Michael chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But tell me more about you.”

“Like what?” He asked as Nina rubbed an alcohol wipe over his skin.

“Like, your favourite colour?”

Luke shrugged, about to open his mouth as Nina instructed him to take a deep breath.

“Wait, let me guess,” he said, starting to inhale deeply. He was so used to them at this point and having a distraction right next to him definitely helped. He exhaled slowly and winced a little when she put the needle in. “Blue!”

Luke laughed and Michael realized he’d said it a little loud, probably because of the needle in his hand. “Yeah, it’s blue.”

“Perfect, I got it in one try,” he said, wincing as she pulled the needle out and placed a gauze pad over the mark and set it down with some medical tape.

“All done,” she said. “We’ll see how your levels are and probably give you more antibiotics.”

He sighed and pouted at her.

“Sorry, Mike,” she said, smiling at him as she put a cap on the needle. “But they’re helping you and you know it.”

He nodded. “Yeah, thanks, Nina.”

“Keep your chin up and make good choices.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling as she left.

“She seems lovely,” Luke said. “Are the staff all nice like that?”

Michael chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, they work in a children’s hospital and I’ve known a lot of the nurses for a few years.”

“I should get going,” Luke said, glancing at his phone. “I have to get my laundry done. But I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Michael smiled. “Thanks for coming by. I’ll text you when I’m out, yeah? We’ll do that dinner and Deadpool thing.”

“Of course,” Luke said, standing up and smiling at him. “Thanks for letting me know all of this stuff.”

“Any time, I’ll answer any question,” Michael said.

“Have a good night,” Luke murmured, a soft look in his blue eyes that caused Michael’s heart to flutter.

His night passed slowly, watching Netflix on his phone before he fell asleep after a nurse hooked him up to the NG tube and he swallowed enough enzymes. He woke in the early hours of the morning when someone came in and shook him gently. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes, the bandage from earlier scratching his skin.

“Sorry to wake you,” a nurse – was it Deidre or Lainey? “I have to do a quick observation, okay?”

Michael nodded and rolled onto his back for her, blinking against the dim lamplight in his room. It was Deidre, with her pink hair tied up in two buns, and she smiled at him as she checked his pulse.

“I hear you had a visitor – and he was cute,” she said, her voice low enough that it was a choice for him to reply.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Luke.”

“A new boyfriend?” She asked, switching over to the blood pressure cuff.

“Not boyfriend,” he yawned. “Just been on a date. We’re going on a second.”

She grabbed a thermometer, tapping his lower lip. He opened his mouth and let her settle the thermometer under his tongue. “Do you like him?”

He nodded, careful not to bite down on the thermometer even though his teeth wanted to. He didn’t want to risk swallowing glass or mercury – he had enough health problems.

“It’s been a while since you dated,” she said, scribbling down her findings on his heart rate, breathing rate and blood pressure. “I hope you find someone nice.”

He smiled a little, rubbing at his eyes again. He’d been stuck in the hospital after and during breakups and the nurses and doctors around him witnessed it all and the therapist always came to him with his latex gloves and a mask on his face, not wanting to spread infection. It was helpful but really the most helpful of all was the child life therapist who would always come in and just let him have a break from everything.

She pulled the thermometer out and hummed quietly. “Still running a bit hot,” she said quietly. “Sit up and drink some water for me, okay?”

He pulled himself up as she handed him a cup of water with a straw in it. “Should I take more enzymes?” He asked, looking at her as she checked the feeding bag hung on the IV pole.

“That wouldn’t hurt,” she said, giving him a smile. “Drink that cup, okay?”

“I’ll have to pee,” he whined, rubbing at his eyes.

“I know, but you can’t have any NSAIDs so you just have to keep drinking water,” she said.

He sucked at the straw, rubbing his eyes as he did and she refilled it almost the moment he was done.

“Take your enzymes, drink up and then go to sleep,” she smiled. “Sleep fights infections.”

“Sleep fights infections,” he mumbled. His parents always told him that when he had a fit over his bedtime as a little kid and it always led to a discussion of his illness with him before bed, which was never fun, but it always made him take his bedtime meds and go the fuck to sleep.

“Night-night,” Deidre said. “I’ll see you before my shift ends.”

“Good luck,” he said, fixing his mouth around the straw again. He pulled the bedside table close and took some enzymes before cuddling back into the thin hospital blankets and falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on my Tumblr, which is mochalou


	3. Chapter 3

The lights came up in the cinema and everyone around them started getting up, except Michael. Luke gathered his coat and his empty drink container, glancing at Michael with raised eyebrows.

“Dude, it’s a Marvel movie,” he said, looking at him. “There’s always a post-credit scene.”

Luke sat back in his seat, reaching over the armrest and easily lacing their fingers together. “If there isn’t, you’re paying for dinner.”

The credits kept rolling, showing name after name of caterers and special effects artists and lighting technicians. “Deal,” he said. “Where do you want to get food?”

“I definitely don’t want something really fancy,” Luke said. “But, like, also not pub food, y’know?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Michael nodded. “Nachos?”

Luke nodded. “Nachos.”

The credits ended and the post-credit scene rolled, leaving the both of them giggling before they finally stood up and gathered their trash, just as Ryan Reynolds had requested they do.

“Okay, I’m still gonna pay for the nachos,” Michael said as they left, their hands finding each other again.

“You sure?” Luke asked as they headed out into the cool night air.

“One hundred percent,” Michael nodded, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “Do you know any good nacho places?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Luke grinned. “With two older brothers, I’ve been dragged out _a lot_ for comfort food.”

“Can’t be too spicy, though,” Michael said. “Unfortunately, spicy things make me cough and we know what happens when I cough.”

Luke chuckled. “I know the perfect place.”

Ten minutes later they were near Luke’s dorm at a nacho place that wasn’t very crowded for a Friday night and they managed to get a table. Ambient music played low enough for conversation but loud enough to actually be heard and a server came by almost immediately with water.

“Do you guys need a few minutes with the menus?” She asked after introducing herself.

“Can we just get nachos?” Michael asked.

“Sure,” she said, scribbling it down. “Beef or vegetarian?”

Michael glanced at Luke, who shrugged in response. “Beef.”

“Sure, anything else?”

“Can I get a beer?” Luke asked.

She listed off various types – brands and colours and things Michael didn’t understand. He _could_ drink, he was legal age and he currently wasn’t on any antibiotics that would contraindicate with alcohol, but he had way less tolerance and hangovers often led to infections. Michael sipped his water and Luke glanced at him after the server left.

“No alcohol with your sickness?” He asked.

“I can drink,” Michael said. “I just don’t like the hangovers.”

Luke chuckled. “Are you a lightweight?”

“One hundred percent. It’s horrible, I’m shitfaced after two drinks.”

Luke laughed, tipping his head back and showing off his lip piercing.

“It’s awful!” Michael insisted, unable to hold back his laugh as the server came by with Luke’s beer.

“It’s actually pretty funny, sorry,” Luke chuckled.

Michael coughed and sipped his water.

“Okay, but can we see the Deadpool sequel together?” Luke asked before frowning. “When does it come out?”

“Probably next year,” Michael shrugged. “But we can absolutely go see it together.”

Luke smiled at him as their nachos arrived, thanking the server and Michael did as well. Luke immediately grabbed one off the top and popped it into his mouth as Michael reached into his backpack for his enzymes, realizing he left them in the car.

“Ugh, hang on,” he said. “I left something in the car.”

Luke nodded, munching on his nacho. Unfortunately, he could no longer disguise the pill bottle in his backpack and Luke would probably ask about them. It wasn’t that bad but it was another nagging difference.

His enzymes were in the glove box and they were still good, thankfully, and there were enough left for the nachos. He grabbed the bottle and took it back in, finding Luke again, who was really picking bits off the top to avoid eating half of it in one go.

“Sorry about that,” Michael said, popping open the bottle and shaking five pills into his hand.

“It’s fine,” Luke said. “What are those?”

“Enzymes,” Michael answered after he swallowed them, grabbing a nacho covered in cheese and mild salsa.

“A cystic fibrosis thing?”

He nodded, munching on it. “Yeah, my pancreas doesn’t create the right enzymes to break down food so I have to take them.”

“Shitty,” Luke said, grabbing another nacho. “Every time you eat?”

“Yeah, if the thing I’m eating has like, fat, carbs and protein I think? So if I’m only eating like, a kiwi, then I’m okay because it’s a simple carb and sugar and stuff. But nachos aren’t on the list of foods that don’t require enzymes.”

“I never even knew this was a part of the human body,” Luke chuckled. “I hate biology.”

Michael laughed. “I failed it in year eleven.”

“Did you?”

Michael nodded and giggled, both of them dissolving into a laughing fit while it changed to a coughing fit for Michael near the end. He quickly recovered after hacking for a few minutes and they carried on as normal, like Michael was normal, which felt absolutely wonderful from someone he was interested in.

“So, Ashton is your roommate, right?” Luke asked, scooping some guacamole onto his tortilla chip.

Michael nodded and swallowed his mouthful. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s great.”

“Isn’t he? He’s so perfect for Calum.”

“And you’re friends with Calum?”

Luke nodded. “We were gonna be roommates at Wollongong or UNSW but I didn’t submit my application on time and he really wanted the pre-med program at Wollongong.”

“You’ve known each other for a long time?”

“Yeah, we got on like a house on fire when we met at little tiny baby soccer,” he chuckled. “And then we ended up at the same high school. It was nice.”

“Little tiny baby soccer?” Michael asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I was like, four, I think? We didn’t have points or anything and I mostly played with grass. My mum said I ate a dandelion once.”

Michael snorted and laughed. “You ate a dandelion?”

Luke nodded, giggling as Michael coughed from his laughing. “Yep,” he said when Michael was done. “And then Calum and I were friends, he met Ashton when we were fifteen and they’ve been in love ever since.”

“I thought they’ve only been dating for a year,” Michael said. Maybe it was his shitty memory, though.

“Official for a year. Giving each other heart eyes and crying to me in turns for three. Also sending me on blind dates for about a year now.”

Michael winced. “They’re not good at that.”

“God, they’re really not,” Luke chuckled. “I got Tinder when I turned eighteen and it’s been way better than their fucking dates.”

“No chance at a future in matchmaking,” Michael said, shaking his head. “God, they sent me on this date with a girl named –”

“Abby?”

Michael looked at him. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“They sent me on a date with her, too,” Luke said.

They spent the next few hours bitching about the shitty dates they’d been on, laughing about jokes and slowly making their way through the nachos and then ordering a dessert to split. Michael completely lost track of time, only coming back when the waitress came by and put their check on the table with a smile. Michael paid and they headed out, the locks sliding into place behind them.

“It’s raining,” Luke said, pulling his hood up over his hair.

“Nice observation,” Michael teased. “Did you know my hair’s blue?”

“Not at all, I’m colour-blind,” Luke deadpanned.

Michael frowned. “Are you serious?”

Luke laughed. “No,” he said, taking his hand and leading him back to Michael’s Camry.

They got in, shutting out the rain and the light, cold wind outside. And quite suddenly, Michael became aware that this was the part of the date where they were meant to kiss. He started the car and they chatted while Michael drove him back to his dorms, completely aware that he could have walked faster since they got caught at nearly every single red light.

Michael parked outside his dorm – idling, really – but he wasn’t sure there were any parking spots left and he might need a permit and he didn’t know if he had the money for that.

“Thanks for today,” Luke said, voice low. “I had a great time.”

“Me, too,” Michael admitted. “Text me?”

“Absolutely,” Luke said, undoing his seatbelt.

Michael’s heart pounded in his chest in anticipation of a kiss and he smiled a little at him, in the hopes of getting Luke to just fucking kiss him already. Luke leaned over and pressed their lips together tentatively and Michael pressed into the touch eagerly.

Just as quickly as it started, it ended with Luke pulling away slowly. “Have a good night,” he said, getting out of the car.

“You, too,” Michael said, thanking every deity in the known world that it was dark and Luke couldn’t see his cheeks burning red.

Michael drove home and sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, rubbing over his face and sighing. It was the best date he’d been on and Luke was slowly learning to not treat him like he was different and he was learning to pick up their conversation right where it left off, even when Michael coughed. He was learning and he was trying and he’d fucking kissed him and he had to remind himself to take a breath as he shut off the engine.

He had to remind himself to not get too caught up in all of this. It could easily end in heartbreak.

Michael opened the door and headed into the dorms, waiting for the elevator and going up to his floor before walking into his room.

Ashton and Calum were stuffed into Ashton’s tiny bed, both of them seemingly naked while some playlist played a slow song he didn’t recognize.

“Oh, jeez,” he mumbled. “Can you two maybe but a sock on the door?”

Calum looked at him, chuckling. “Sorry,” he said. “We thought your date with Luke was going so well you’d stay at his. He’s got a single room, it’s late…”

“It did go well,” Michael said, sitting at his desk and looking at the time. He should get to bed. He pulled a bottle of water out of his fridge and grabbed his nighttime pill box.

“Yeah? Are you gonna date?”

Michael chuckled, shaking the pills out into his hands. “Dude, I don’t know yet,” he said, tossing them into the back of his mouth and taking them with water. He still had to do his vest and nebulizer and sometimes he felt like it was too much but it was all his bedtime routine.

“Well, don’t break his heart, okay?” Calum said, brushing a hand through Ashton’s hair. “He’s my best friend.”

“I like him a lot,” Michael said, grabbing his nebulizer and taking a puff off it.

“Did you kiss?” Ashton asked sleepily from Calum’s chest.

Michael gave a thumbs up with his free hand as he inhaled.

Ashton sat up, nearly tearing the blanket down too far and exposing him and Calum. “You kissed?!”

Michael nodded, exhaling in small puffs around the nebulizer before pressing it again and inhaling slowly.

“Tell me everything,” Ashton said.

Michael smiled around the nebulizer, pulling it away from his mouth before sipping his water. “Well, we saw Deadpool and got nachos and I drove him home and he kissed me. It was super quick, honestly, it lasted maybe two seconds but it was so nice.”

“I’m really glad you two are getting along,” Ashton smiled as Michael grabbed his vest and put it on, checking the straps. “He’s gone on so many shitty dates because of me.”

“Reminds me of me,” Michael mumbled as he started his vest.

Ashton pouted. “Just remember to use a condom, okay?”

“You, too,” Michael shot back, smirking. “And I swear to God, if you wake me up, I will kill the both of you.”

Ashton laughed. “This was round four, don’t think either of us have a round five in us.”

Michael sighed. “Just be safe. And quiet if you do find the energy.”

They giggled, snuggling into each other in a way Michael realized he wanted to do with someone.

 

Michael peeled his rented book open, wondering what kind of horrors this poor dead tree had seen as he searched for that quote in this novel (or _novella_ as his prof called it but whatever it’s a fucking story). He was fairly sure it was after their mother died but that constituted approximately half the damn book so it was fairly hard to find it but he knew the scene it was in, just not the exact page number.

He set the book page-down as his phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and answered the call before he had time to look at the name, because it was either his parents checking up on him or one of his hundreds of doctors calling to tell him he had MRSA or something. He hoped he didn’t have MRSA.

“Hello?” He asked.

“Hey, love,” Daryl said.

“Dad,” Michael said, perking up. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

Michael smiled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m good. You interrupted my quote hunting but it’s fine.”

“I can go if you’d like, I’m just on a break at work.”

“Dad, it’s fine. How’s things? How’s Federer?”

“Things are good and the dog is good,” he chuckled. “A coworker just made me think of you is all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, his daughter was just diagnosed with CF,” Daryl said quietly. “She’s two months old.”

Michael frowned. “Aw, I’m sorry. But at least you’re there to give him loads of advice.”

“It’s making me miss you,” Daryl admitted. “You have to come visit.”

Michael glanced in the mirror, seeing that his hair did indeed need a new dye job and he could only complete that at home. “Next weekend?”

“Do you have plans this weekend?”

Michael bit down on his lip. “Yeah,” he said.

“Ooh, going out drinking like a regular university student?”

Michael laughed. “No, no, just staying in with a friend and watching movies.”

“Just a friend?” Daryl asked. “No cute gi- people you have your eye on?”

He smiled down at his lap. “Sort of a friend. A friend I’m interested in…”

“Name?”

“Luke,” Michael mumbled, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “I don’t know if it’s serious yet, but it’s pretty nice, whatever it is.”

“You gonna bring him home?”

Michael flushed. “Dad,” he whined. “Ugh. I’ll bring him home once we’re official, okay?”

“Okay, that’s a good plan,” Daryl chuckled. “I should let you go but let me know more about this guy, okay? And remember to take your meds. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said before they disconnected. He took a deep breath and coughed, checking the time and looking around the dorm to see if there was anything that needed to be cleaned. The only eyesore that he could think of was the grocery bag full of chips and gummies on his side table, overtaking his poor alarm clock. There were two dips in the fridge and Michael was definitely overthinking all of this.

Luke was baffled that Michael had never seen _Pulp Fiction_ so that’s what they were going to watch and it felt a lot like a “Netflix and chill” kind of date that Michael wasn’t sure he wanted to be involved in. But he liked Luke too much to say no – and besides, _Pulp Fiction_ sounded really good. He just didn’t want to have sex with Luke. Not yet, anyway.

Ashton had left for Calum’s (there was a family dinner that Ashton was invited to) a few hours ago with a wink to be safe and a reminder of where he kept condoms. It made Michael flush so hard he worried he had a fever again but he kept it in the back of his mind. _Just in case_.

He picked up his book and found the quote, typing it into his document before he shut his laptop and spun around in the chair, running his hands through his hair. He’d never been this nervous before but it probably had something to do with all of his equipment lying around, his vest neatly folded under his bed and his AM and PM pill organizers sitting out on the desk with his enzymes next to them. In the past, he’d been able to shove everything in his closet to avoid reminding the person he might have sex with that he was really, really sick.

There was a knock on his door and Michael got up, opening the door. Luke brushed a hand through his hair and smiled awkwardly, his piercing quirking in such a way that made Michael all the more nervous and all the more excited.

“Hey,” Michael said, stepping back to let him in.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Luke asked. “Are you a shoes on or off kind of guy?”

“It’s good,” Michael said. “And shoes off, please. Ashton is the stickler about it. He even bought us a damn shoe rack.”

Luke laughed and bent down to untie his shoes. “I mean, you have got a lot of shoes, to be fair.”

“Well, you need different shoes for different weather. And you need running shoes, so that’s like, three pairs minimum already.”

Luke laughed again as he placed his shoes next to the shoe rack. “I definitely understand. Thongs for summer and boots for winter and then you need a few more pairs. And a nice pair, in case you go somewhere fancy.”

Michael grinned. “Oh, you get me,” he said.

Luke nodded, chuckling. “Yeah. Now let’s get down to business. _Pulp Fiction_ is a work of art and I will be having a word with your parents for not raising you on this movie.”

Michael grabbed his laptop and sat down on the bed with it, Luke tossing the DVD down onto the bed beside him. He inspected the case while his laptop loaded. “It’s rated R,” he said.

“They didn’t let you watch R movies?”

“Well, not until I was at least sixteen,” Michael said, looking up at him. “And have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Did your parents let you watch R movies?”

“Well… no,” Luke admitted, as he slid one butt-cheek tentatively onto Michael’s bed. “But my brothers did.”

Michael rolled his eyes and laughed. He slid over, popping the DVD in his disk drive and pulling Luke closer by his wrist. “Get _comfortable_.”

Luke pouted. “It’s awkward,” he admitted quietly.

Michael clicked in the right spot to make the movie play and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “The bed is tiny, I know, but we can make it work.”

Luke reddened and leaned into him and Michael watched as the opening credits began to roll for the film, the production and studio proudly showing off their logos. They watched with closed captions on so Michael could still read the dialogue if he was coughing (which did happen a few times but Michael had learned over the years to stop caring about his cough because it was never going away).

“Wasn’t that great?” Luke asked by the end of it, both of them crowded against the wall with the laptop on Michael’s lap and a bag of gummy worms open between their legs.

“It really was,” Michael nodded, running a hand through Luke’s hair as he popped the disk out and set it back into the case. “Do you want something more substantial than gummy worms and tortilla chips?”

“Depends what you have,” Luke said as Michael got up and went over to the mini-fridge, sitting down in front of it and opening it.

He coughed. “Hmm, about two premade milkshakes, some leftovers from the dining hall and a small brick of cheese.”

Luke laughed. “What are the milkshakes?”

“Chocolate flavour,” he said. “High calorie, high fat, high carbs and all that good stuff.”

“That sounds like loads of fun,” Luke chuckled. “We could always order a pizza?”

Michael looked at him, faking a pout. “You don’t want to try, uh, cold pasta and a brick of cheddar cheese?”

“Not unless you can grate the cheese.”

“Let’s order a pizza,” Michael chuckled.

“I’ll pay,” Luke offered, smiling.

“Okay,” Michael smiled, getting one of the premade shakes in an old sippy cup from when he was young. He shook it and sat back next to Luke, resting a hand on his thigh. He immediately pulled it back when Luke tensed up. “Sorry.”

“No,” Luke said quietly. “It’s okay.”

Michael put his hand back on his thigh carefully, watching him to make sure he didn’t react poorly and he didn’t; Luke leaned in and kissed him. Michael’s eyes fluttered shut and he reminded himself to _breathe_.

Luke pushed him back gently so they were horizontal and there was finally enough space for them like this, with Luke on top and his hips shifting awkwardly as they fought to keep kissing while rearranging themselves on the twin bed. Luke finally arranged himself, straddling Michael, and kissing him slowly and it felt so nice Michael thought he just wanted to do it forever and he was so glad he hadn’t coughed yet.

As if on cue, a cough bubbles up in his chest and he pulled away from the kiss, turning his head to cough into his shirt. Luke sat up, obviously a little alarmed, but quickly calmed and began brushing his hand through Michael’s hair while he coughed. He pushed at Luke’s stomach gently, extricating himself from underneath him to cough more efficiently while he sat up and Luke just sat by, their hips still touching and both of their lips kissed into a redder hue.

“Sorry,” Michael mumbled, rubbing his chest.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Luke said, kissing his cheek.

“I know, but I interrupted a fantastic make out session and I feel bad.”

Luke took his hand and squeezed. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Michael looked at him and laid his head on his shoulder, sighing quietly.

“Can… can I ask about, uh, sex?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Michael said. “Ask anything.”

“Can you have it?”

“Mhm,” Michael said. “My lung function is good enough that I can still do most things. I just cough during and after sometimes and it’s not very sexy.”

Luke looked at him, hand brushing gently through his hair. He really needed to dye his hair again but it was so dark that his roots didn’t show unless someone – like Luke – was this close.

“I need to dye it,” he mumbled.

“It’s lovely,” Luke shot back. “And isn’t dye smelly? Ashton told me to not wear cologne around you because it would make you cough worse.”

“I love that boy,” Michael grinned. “And yeah, but we just ventilate the room really well and I’ll probably cough but I cough a lot.”

Luke nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s nice. Brown naturally?”

“Blondish brown,” Michael shrugged. “Dirty blond, I guess?”

“Hmm, makes sense. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what colour Ashton’s hair is.”

“Right?! Like, it’s golden brown? I think?”

Luke laughed, cuddling closer to him. “What colour are you gonna do next?”

“I don’t know what we’re having for dinner,” Michael giggled.

“Shit, right, call for pizza,” Luke said, pulling away and ordering pizza to their dorm.

Within the hour, they had a medium pizza between them and Luke was on his second slice while Michael picked at his crust.

“I thought you needed calories and stuff,” Luke said, licking off some sauce on his lips. “So you were like an eating machine.”

“I’m often not all that hungry,” Michael shrugged, reaching over and sipping the shake. “Which is why these are so important.”

“Why aren’t you hungry?” Luke asked, watching Michael pick apart his crust.

“Infections,” he said. “Fevers. Stuff like that.”

Luke frowned a little. “Well, I’m glad you’ve got those.”

Michael smiled and kissed his cheek where some errant pizza sauce had landed, giggling when he realized he’d only smeared it instead of picked up. “Oops.”

Luke rolled his eyes with a smile on his face and wiped the sauce up with a tissue. “Do you want another piece or should I put this away?”

“I’ll put it away,” Michael said, standing. “You don’t know where we keep the baggies.”

He could feel Luke’s eyes on him as he put the pizza into a baggie, putting the lukewarm slices in the fridge for future snacking. He glanced out the window (tiny, hardly opened at all and never let any breeze in) to see the rain and Luke brushed crumbs off his sheets.

“It’s pouring,” Michael observed, peering up at the dark clouds just as they flashed and thunder rumbled. He flinched back, adrenaline racing through him.

“Thundering, too,” Luke said, leaning back against the wall.

Michael sat on the bed and snuggled into his side.

“Afraid of thunder?” Luke asked, brushing a hand through his hair.

Michael nodded and snuggled closer, pushing his face into Luke’s chest.

Luke laughed and kissed his forehead. “It’s okay, you’ve got me.”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Michael whined into his chest, taking a deep breath and creating a small coughing fit.

“I’m not laughing at you, I just think it’s cute,” Luke explained. “Here you are, a boy who dyes his hair and pierces his eyebrow and gets finger tattoos and has a big scary illness that would make me cry and yet you’re scared of thunder.”

Michael sighed. “You’re afraid of needles. And I have more than the anchor and the X.”

“Do you?” Luke asked overtop another clap of thunder.

“Yeah. You’ve only really seen me in sweaters.”

Luke peered at him. “Well, show me then.”

“You only want to see me shirtless,” Michael giggled.

“Maybe I’m interested in that,” Luke laughed.

Michael pulled away, calmer about the storm outside as he tugged off his sweater. He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on underneath because he was worried they’d snuggle and he’d start to sweat. He was suddenly conscious of his port and the bump on his chest from it but he lifted his left arm a bit to show off the tattoo on the underside of his arm.

“To the moon?” Luke read. “Just… just ‘to the moon’? No ‘and back’?”

“No,” Michael grinned. “Just ‘to the moon’. It’s that one bedtime story my parents would always read to me – “Guess How Much I Love You”.”

Luke looked at him, smiling. “Was it your first tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Michael smiled.

Luke reached over and touched the other ones. “What are these?”

“Just bands,” Michael shrugged. “I thought they looked good and they were cool.”

“And this?” Luke asked, poking the one on his elbow.

“Final fantasy symbol for home,” Michael whispered. “I, uh, you know… I spent a lot of time in hospital as a kid and all I wanted was to be home and I’d always just play video games to get my mind off of it. And I just really like home.”

Luke kissed his nose. “You’re adorable.”

Michael blushed and shut his eyes, wincing at the thunder.

“What’s this bump on your chest?” Luke asked, finger near the spot but not yet touching it.

“Port-A-Cath,” Michael mumbled, opening his eyes to look at Luke. “It’s where they stick my IVs because my hands and arms got so fucked up from scar tissue. Had a small surgery and now I’m good to go for… probably the rest of my life.”

“Medicine is cool,” Luke said, laying down and snuggling into Michael and he wrapped his arm around him.

Michael smiled. “Yeah. I wasn’t supposed to live to see nineteen and I’m getting there soon, so it’s pretty cool.”

Luke peered at him. “What’ll kill you?”

“Lung function, probably,” he shrugged. “I’m already at sixty percent lung function.”

Luke cuddled close to him and Michael could tell that he was worried about them again, about Michael’s decreasing lung function and their relationship and worrying that he would be around to watch Michael die, slow and undignified. He shut his eyes. He’d been dealing with his reduced life expectancy for his entire life and he’d seen the numbers rise since the year he was born and he’d gone to various therapists and talked about it with professionals.

It took years and he still wasn’t one hundred percent okay with it. But he was _trying._

Luke stayed, saying that he had to take care of Michael through the storm, and he played with his hair while he did his vest and his nebulizer and they brushed their teeth side by side before cramming themselves into a tiny, tiny bed and falling asleep.

Michael had never felt so comfortable beside someone. His past relationships had all been awkward sleeping in the same bed, too many limbs and too much heat and not enough space. This felt natural.

He woke up at some point to the door slamming shut and he sat up away from Luke, rubbing at his eyes. The rain was still pouring outside and someone kicked the wall and swore and Michael worried that he was going to be murdered in his own dorm room and he wondered if he’d left it unlocked.

“Ashton?” Michael asked carefully.

“What?” Ashton hissed, tossing his bag down.

Luke shifted beside him and Michael flicked on the lamp, revealing Ashton, standing in the centre of the room looking like a drowned rat. “What happened?”

“My boyfriend is a _dick_ , that’s what fucking happened,” Ashton spat, dropping his bag and shoving his damp hair out of his face. “He’s an asshole and I fucking hate him.”

“You love him,” Luke mumbled from beside Michael.

“ _Fuck_ him!” Ashton said, voice too loud.

“Ash, people are sleeping,” Michael reminded him, coughing.

Ashton tore his shirt off and tossed it into the laundry hamper. “I’m so fucking pissed off.”

“What did he do?” Michael asked between coughs.

“He told me he never talked to his ex, even though they were in the same university and tonight I found out that he fucking lied to me,” Ashton said. “He’s still fucking buddies with Vanessa. And he didn’t even tell me that they broke up because Calum _cheated_ on her!”

Luke yawned while Michael coughed. “Ashton, he didn’t cheat on her. She caught him getting chatted up by a dude and she flipped out.”

“That isn’t what he fucking admitted to,” Ashton seethed.

Michael coughed and grabbed his water bottle before he took a sip.

“He _told_ _me_ that he fucking kissed another guy while he was with Vanessa,” Ashton said.

“Get some sleep,” Luke advised. “And then in the morning, talk to him.”

“I’m so _mad_ ,” Ashton mumbled, the desperate whimper of the truly pissed off.

“Go have a shower,” Michael said.

Ashton nodded and grabbed his shower bag, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Michael fell asleep after a while with Luke, the two of them once again snuggled together under the blankets. Michael didn’t remember hearing Ashton come in; he only remembered snuggling close to him and sleeping a deep and completely restful sleep.

He woke up a few hours into the night by Ashton’s hands on his shoulder. “Michael,” he sobbed.

Michael rolled over and coughed, groaning.

“Michael, please, please,” Ashton sobbed.

He rubbed his eyes. “ _What_?” He whispered.

“Calum’s in the hospital,” he sobbed. “Please, I need your car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger friends.... Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on my Tumblr, which is mochalou


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs awkwardly into hand* sooo this one took a while. oops! sorry about that, friends. for a while there my inspiration completely left me and it took a long time to get it back and between school and work, life was kind of A Lot. thank you for your patience. now here is where you get to find out what ashton is crying about...

“Calum’s in the hospital,” he sobbed. “Please, I need your car.”

“Fuck,” Michael said, standing up. “I’ll drive you.”

Luke rubbed his eyes and rolled over. “Hmm?”

“Calum – hospital,” Michael summed, standing and grabbing a hoodie. He felt dizzy and thought that his blood sugar must be low. He didn’t want to stop for a fucking juice while Ashton sobbed in complete anxiety so he reached into the fridge while he stuffed his feet into a pair of thongs – knowing full well that he would be drenched – and he grabbed the second shake and took a long drink.

“Hurry, please,” Ashton whimpered.

Within minutes they were in the car and Michael had Luke direct him to the hospital that Ashton rattled off. Michael let him out at the drop-off zone and went to find parking, wondering why hospitals were always so busy at night when most people were doing dangerous and idiotic shit in the daytime. He found a parking spot and looked at Luke, who he realized in the dim lighting, looked pale.

“You okay?” He asked, coughing.

Luke shook his head. “He’s my best friend,” he whispered.

“Come on, let’s go in,” Michael said quietly. He liked Calum but he wasn’t sure they even passed the mark of being friends and he just wanted to be here for his friends, for Ashton and for Luke.

They went inside and followed Ashton and a nurse back to the waiting room where Calum’s parents and sister were sitting, the three of them holding hands. Ashton and Luke went over and Michael turned to the nurse who brought them up here.

“Sorry, can I get a mask? And is there any hand sanitizer around?” He asked quietly. “I have cystic fibrosis.”

She nodded. “Absolutely, just follow me.”

He followed her and got fitted for a paper mask and got a chance to wash his hands, all to prevent a new and nasty infection like MRSA and to avoid spreading his infection to anyone. He went back to Calum’s loved ones and sat next to Luke.

“He was on Princes Highway,” Joy said around a sniffle. “I don’t know what he was doing driving on the highway in the pouring rain at such an hour.”

Ashton cried, cuddling into her. “We got in a fight and I came back to Sydney,” he sobbed. “He… must have been following me.”

Michael took Luke’s hand, squeezing gently and Luke looked over at him, blue eyes wide with fear. “You okay?” Michael whispered as Joy described how the police think Calum had managed to roll his car off the highway, how they think it was wildlife that spooked him.

Luke nodded. “Doing better. What’s with the mask?”

“CF thing,” Michael said. “I could spread infection or get an infection and neither of those is good.”

“Oh,” Luke said, snuggling closer.

A doctor appeared seemingly out of nowhere (secretly Michael thinks they’re omnipotent and make you wait for as long as possible before popping into existence in front of you. Realistically, he knows they work hard and have a lot of people to treat).

“Joy and David Hood?” She asked, looking like all doctors do with her comfortable sneakers and her scrubs. In fact, she looked a little bit like Dr. Raymond, Michael’s primary CF doctor who’d he been seeing since he was born.

They nodded and she introduced herself before glancing down at her clipboard. “We’ve been running tests on him since it doesn’t seem that he needs surgery,” she said. “He’s okay – he’s alive.”

The group let out a collective breath.

“But he has a concussion, a few broken ribs and his lower leg is nearly completely smashed,” she said softly. “His tibia and fibula are completely fractured – shattered, really. He has a concussion and a few lacerations and contusions but he’ll make a full recovery. However, he will need extensive physical therapy and rehabilitation from his injury.”

“Can I see him?” Ashton asked.

“Yes, absolutely,” she said, smiling. “He’s just on some painkillers right now so he might not be entirely lucid.”

They followed her back to the room, Michael being dragged along by Luke. He hoped it wasn’t too many people for Calum to have around after just being in an accident but Michael was there for Luke (and Calum to some extent but he would consider him a friendly acquaintance more than a friend).

Calum was laid out on the bed, his leg wrapped in a thick cast that left only his toes uncovered. Whatever clothes he was wearing earlier were replaced with a flowery hospital gown and Michael wondered what had happened to his clothes and if they were too covered in blood and snipped open to help them access his body. He wondered if they took everything off when they discarded of clothes. He’d been in the hospital for a lot of things, but never anything serious enough to warrant the staff taking his clothes off for him.

Ashton went over and immediately took his hand, his family flocking to the other side of him. Michael stayed to the side, observing as Calum blinked slowly and focused on each one of them one at a time.

“The fuck happened,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut.

Michael peered at his charts: normal blood pressure, normal heart rate, normal body temperature. His breathing and responsiveness was off but he did have a concussion and he was on pain killers.

“You were in a car accident,” David said with the gentleness only a father could muster. “On Princes Highway. The police think you swerved away from an animal and lost control because of the rain.”

“Oh,” Calum mumbled, letting his breath out slowly and wincing. “It was a fucking kangaroo.”

“Be careful,” Ashton whispered. “You’ve got some broken ribs.”

Calum looked over at him and blinked a few times before his face turned the right way to signal crying. “I’m sorry, Ash,” he whispered quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Interrupting quickly, Calum’s family hugged him as best they could and kissed between the bruises on his face before they said something about being glad he was okay and leaving. Michael sat on the chairs they’d vacated, Luke sitting beside him and wrapping their hands together.

“Should I go?” He asked Luke quietly.

Luke shook his head. “You’ll hear it all from Ash anyway,” he murmured back.

Ashton wiped at his eyes as he watched Calum. “I’m still pissed off that you didn’t tell me you cheated on her,” he said. “But you scared the absolute shit out of me and I’m too scared to be too mad at you and I fucking hate this.”

Calum sniffled. “God, Ash, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to think I was a piece of shit,” he whispered. “I felt like such a piece of shit after I kissed him… I spent time thinking of telling you but it made me sick and I didn’t know what to do so I just didn’t and then I completely forgot because I fell so hard for you.”

Ashton wiped at his eyes before he reached over and brushed at Calum’s hair. Michael wondered if they washed it or if it was still soaked in oil and bits of microscopic glass. “We’re not going to resolve this tonight, Cal,” he said. “And right now, I’m just really glad you’re alive.”

Calum shut his eyes and leaned into the touch.

Michael blinked and looked down at his lap. It made him think about his own mortality and how he would be absolutely lucky to see his fiftieth birthday, especially with his lung function at sixty percent. His doctors had brought up the idea of a lung transplant a few times but he was against the idea. There were so many risks associated with lung transplants and he didn’t want to die before he had gotten a degree and lived his fucking life. And really, it was just trading one illness for another, CF lungs for the chance at having chronic rejection.

Eventually, he took Luke home before heading back to his dorm and passing the hell out.

 

Shockingly, Michael survived the semester. He survived the semester and even though most of his break was spent in the hospital on antibiotics watching shitty TV and Skyping with a girl he’d known since he was a tiny kid, Holly, who was seventeen and was worse off than he was. She was on oxygen and they didn’t think she had very long left if she didn’t get her lung transplant soon, in which case she’d be taken by ambulance to St Vincent’s Hospital, the only place they did transplants in Sydney.

“I can’t wait to run in a marathon,” she said. “And dye my hair like you have. The smells just make me cough so bad.”

“What colour?” Michael asked. They weren’t supposed to be around each other in case of cross infection; he didn’t want the infections she had and she didn’t want to get sicker.

“Purple!” She said happily.

“Purple,” Michael smiled. “Like the awareness ribbon colour?”

She laughed. “No, that’s a happy coincidence, but purple is my favourite colour. I tried once before but it was so perfumey that I had a hacking fit and just about died.”

He chuckled nervously at the mention of death. “No, yeah, I always have like, six fans running and all the doors and windows open around me. It’s awful.”

“I can’t wait to start wearing perfume, too,” she said.

“Not around me, though.”

“Never around you,” she laughed.

Michael laughed. But Holly died two days later before she got her call for a transplant, one that would have given her fresh new lungs that would have saved her. She never got to dye her hair purple, never got to run in a marathon and never got to see what it would be like breathing with cystic fibrosis-free lungs. Michael was incensed. He knew that there was nothing that could be done and that no one with the tissue and blood type and suitable lungs had died in time to save her.

She was the closest thing he had to a sister and he was devastated by her death. He dyed his hair purple and went to her funeral with a mask on, just in case, and he shook her parents’ hands and told them how sorry he was.

His parents took him to dinner that night, obviously wondering about when their own son would die from cystic fibrosis. Ashton forced him out on a double date with Luke and Calum, the four of them taking advantage of the warm winter weather to go out for lunch together and maybe catch a movie if Michael was feeling up to it.

He sat at the table, picking at the appetizer he’d taken off the communal plate. Ashton and Luke drank beer; Michael and Calum stuck to water. Calum was still wheelchair-bound and he still had a few healing cuts on his face but all-in-all, he was okay. Michael was in a shitty mood but everyone was trying so hard to work around it and he had hardly any energy from everything that he was thinking about and not thinking about and the slap in the face that Holly’s death was.

“What courses are you taking next semester?” Luke asked Ashton.

“Anthropology, statistics, English, Earth science and criminology,” Ashton answered promptly.

“Ugh, I have an entire course dedicated to drugs, it’s going to be fantastic,” Calum sighed. “I know the effects of painkillers. And Michael can always help me with antibiotics.”

Michael put a yam chip in his mouth even though he wasn’t hungry. “Yep,” he said.

“When do you move back into your dorms?” Luke asked. Most people had left dorms for their winter break to catch up with family and Michael was among them, even though it meant he had to drive three hours to get to the clinic.

“Next week, I think? I’m ready for it,” Ashton smiled. “I’ve missed my bud Michael.”

Michael looked up at him and gave a small grin. He still felt shitty since he was on an awful cocktail of antibiotics and he wasn’t hungry at all but other than that he was okay, he didn’t feel like he had an infection.

Their server came by, clearing the table and asking if they’d decided on their meals. Michael was banking on getting another appetizer, which he wasn’t sure he would be able to finish but the rest of them answered that yes, they were ready to eat.

“What are you getting?” Luke asked, smiling at him.

He shrugged. “Probably the rice bowl.”

Luke glanced down at the menu. “It’s only an appetizer,” he said, his smile turning into a concerned frown. Michael adored him, he really did, but everything was annoying him.

“I’m not too hungry.”

He could feel their eyes on him, inspecting his thin arms and how his face was something other than a round moon-shape. He gritted his teeth and folded his menu up before he took a long sip of his water to ignore them as they started fumbling for conversation. After they ordered, Michael excused himself to the bathroom for a bit, going back into the restaurant to take a breather.

He had no social energy, was the thing, and he just wanted to go home and watch Netflix and not think about transplants anymore because his parents kept hinting that the only reason Holly had died was because she hadn’t gotten hers in time and what if he got that bad? His lung function was slowly ebbing away and his doctors were asking if he’d like to consider it and he wanted everyone to leave him the fuck alone so he could actually think about it. He wanted to stop feeling so damn pressured.

“Everything okay?” Calum asked, wheeling in. He could be on crutches but he decided that for an outing such as today, it called for something he wouldn’t get sick of in a few minutes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael said, leaning against the counter. “I’m okay. I just want to go home.”

“I know, Ash doesn’t really get it,” Calum chuckled. “He’s so hell-bent on making sure that we’re all social that he doesn’t account for the fact we’re humans and need time off.”

Michael nodded and sighed. “Yeah,” he said quietly, coughing. “I have a lot to think about right now, too, and I want to go home and think about it.”

“What’s up? Not thinking of crushing Luke, are you?”

He shook his head. “No, I like him a lot,” he said quietly. “I want to keep seeing him. But I’m just thinking about lung transplants since my friend Holly died before she could get hers.”

“I’m really sorry,” Calum said honestly. “You don’t have to decide right now, though. You have time.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. My parents are just all worried I’m gonna die and it’s irritating.”

“We’re having a party for Luke this weekend,” Calum said. “It’s his birthday.”

“It’s his birthday?” Michael asked quietly. They’d talked about a lot of things – if they thought aliens were real and if they ever wanted to have kids (Michael was a firm maybe and Luke was a definite yes) – but they hadn’t touched on birthdays.

Calum nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “My best boy will be nineteen.”

Michael smiled. “I’ll see if I can come.”

“I hope you can. He really, really likes you.”

It made him feel a little better, even if he already knew it, and it made his cheeks heat up a little. “How many people?”

“Not that many,” Calum shrugged. “We’ll take him out to dinner, me and Ash and a couple of mutual friends and we’ll probably drink a little bit. At the very most there’ll be like, ten?”

Michael nodded. “Okay, that sounds doable,” he said. “I’ll be there. Get Ashton to give you my number.”

Calum nodded and smiled. “Perfect. Now I actually really need a piss.”

Michael laughed, coughing. “I’ll see you back at the table,” he said, heading back through the restaurant out to the table.

Luke looked at him with concern. “You okay?” He asked quietly while Ashton mumbled something about his mum texting him.

“Yeah,” he said, giving him a genuine smile and taking a sip of his water. “I’m all good. Are you okay?”

Luke nodded. “I was worried you were having another coughing fit,” he said.

“Nah, my lungs seem to be cooperating today,” he said. “And you don’t need to worry about me, I’m going to be fine.”

Luke took his hand under the table, squeezing. “I know,” he said quietly.

Their food came and although Michael hardly finished his food, he felt good. Ashton took Calum to his doctor’s appointment once they had finished lunch, leaving Luke and Michael wandering the streets of Sydney with nothing else to do. They popped into trinket shops and stores that sold furniture and ended up in a park, sitting on a bench with bottles of water to sip while they spent time together.

Thing was, Michael wanted to take Luke home but it wasn’t official between them yet and he didn’t want to take things too fast. So he would be content with sitting around in the cool weather with Luke, holding hands and drinking water.

“How many people have you dated?” Luke asked, looking away from the kids a while away playing soccer and using their hoodies as goalposts.

“Two official relationships,” Michael said, looking over at him. “One… fling, I guess? What about you?”

“Only one,” he said, leaning into him. Michael worried about germs and infection, just as he always had, but he wanted to be close to Luke.

“Is this the old relationships chat?” Michael asked.

Luke shrugged, looking at him. “I think it’s important,” he said. “Tell me about your relationships.”

Michael nodded. “Uh, well, my fling was with the only guy I’ve ever really been with, before you. His name was Jay, short for James, though I never understood why you’d shorten James. He was nice but we didn’t mesh very well. Before that, I dated a girl named Hannah for a few months but we just didn’t work out and we were looking for different things. And before that I dated a girl, Mary, and she was lovely. We’re still friends but she moved to Adelaide and that was the end of that.”

“I like Mary, she sounds nice,” Luke said.

“She was lovely,” he said. “She’s religious so she’d always be praying for my health and I just thought that was really neat.”

Luke laughed. “Is now a good time to tell you I’m Christian?”

“You are?” Michael asked, grinning. “Fantastic, pray for me, it gets me hot.”

They both giggled before Luke regained composure. “I mean, my parents actually practice and everything but I do believe in God. You don’t?”

Michael shrugged. “I’m not really sure about my beliefs,” he said. “My parents were raised Christian and baptised me as a baby and I went to Sunday school and church related things for a while because they were cheaper than other things, you know?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I dunno, I think we’re Anglican? And I’ve been to church a few times with my parents over the break because they’re always yelling at me in the morning ‘get your lazy ass out of bed, we’re going to church!’ and it’s like, okay, go to church and let me sleep until eleven.”

“Right!” Michael laughed, tipping his head back. “But tell me about your relationship.”

Luke chuckled and entwined their fingers. “Uh, his name was Marc, with a C.”

“Cark,” Michael chuckled, reminiscing about a photo he’d seen on the internet of someone’s name being spelled Cark on a Starbucks cup instead of Marc.

Luke giggled. “Cark,” he repeated. “But I mean, that already gives you some perspective into how big of a douche he was. We dated for like, four months… I lost my virginity to him and then he ghosted me, I guess you’d say in modern terms.”

“What?”

“He just… stopped replying to me. He didn’t answer my texts, he’d unfollowed me on Instagram and Snapchat, he unfriended me on Facebook. The only reason I knew we weren’t really a couple anymore was because he blocked me after I asked him what the fuck was going on. I emailed him, called his house, confronted him at school. He just decided one day that we were over without telling me.”

“Oh my God,” Michael mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

Luke sighed, shrugging. “It’s okay, it was years ago and he’s a douche,” he said. “I don’t know what he’s got up to but frankly, I don’t care.”

Michael smiled. “Good,” he said, kissing Luke’s cheek. “You have every right to hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” he said. “I just don’t give a shit.”

Michael wrapped his arms around him and snuggled close. “Good. I won’t ever ghost you. It’s just so rude.”

Luke nodded. “Right? Like, how immature.”

Michael brushed through Luke’s hair, drinking in the scent of whatever shampoo he used – it smelled just slightly of vanilla and green apple. “Oh, Calum said your birthday is next week,” he said. “The… sixteenth?”

Luke looked at him and nodded. “You don’t have to give me anything, okay? Seriously, just having you there will be nice enough.”

“No, but we’ve never discussed birthdays,” Michael pouted.

“That’s true,” Luke giggled, leaning over to kiss his pout. “Well, mine’s July sixteenth. I have a feeling you’re born in April or May.”

Michael laughed. “You could not be more wrong. November twentieth.”

“Oh,” Luke laughed. “Well, I got that wrong.”

“It’s okay, it gives you lots of time to get it right,” Michael smiled.

Luke smiled and snuggled close and Michael thought how badly he wanted to make them official.

 

Michael sat in his doctor’s office, wishing he had wifi to connect to so he didn’t have to sit here and listen to old Kelly Clarkson and Backstreet Boys songs on their awful soft rock radio station. He was there for a checkup to refill his prescriptions and talk about any side-effects he was having and maybe shake up his antibiotic regimen. He was planning to ask about a double lung transplant as well, just to ask and learn about everything, even though his lung function wasn’t poor enough to land him on the list just yet.

He had Luke’s birthday party tonight as well and he was hopeful the coffee he was planning on getting later would help his energy level, since all he really felt like doing was going to bed. He just wanted to get told that he would survive a double lung transplant and that he would probably thrive afterwards, being so young and all. But he’d done his research and he knew that the immunosuppressant drugs would damage his kidneys and his liver and that there was always the risk of rejection and even worse infections.

The receptionist came down the hall. “Dr. Berkeley is ready for you, Mike,” she said.

He stood and followed her, coughing into his elbow before he sat in the room waiting for Dr. Berkeley. She’d been his doctor since basically forever – maybe he was ten? – but she was absolutely lovely and he loved seeing her especially since he saw the nurses at the hospital a lot more often.

She came in a few minutes later and they discussed his meds and his general health and his mental health. She wrote him a few new prescriptions and listened to his lungs and asked about if his sputum tasted or looked at all different.

At the end, she looked at him from her chair, smiling. “Anything else?”

“Uh, yeah, can I ask about a lung transplant?” He asked, glancing down at his fingers to avoid looking at her.

“Is this about Holly’s death?” She asked.

He sighed. “A bit. I know my lung function isn’t poor enough to get on the list yet but I just don’t want to die if I do get on it.”

She watched him. “Sometimes it’s a very long process, especially with cystic fibrosis,” she said. “We’d have to do so many sputum samples and you’d need to stop taking the clarithromycin. You’d need to gain weight, start doing NG night feeding at your home and at the clinic. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to start it now but St Vincent’s might not take you just yet.”

“So I have to get worse to be considered?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said. “I can refer you to St Vincent’s as soon as you reach forty percent lung function. Or, if you’d like, The Alfred could always be your centre of choice.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to go all the way there. St Vincent’s sounds great.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry we can’t start the process much sooner,” she said. “But you’d be at the absolute bottom of the list if we did now, even if you got through the assessment process.”

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You know about the risks and all, right?” She asked, crossing her legs.

He nodded. “Infection, rejection, diabetes, kidney and liver damage…”

“Absolutely,” she said. “So obviously recovering would be difficult and you’d have to keep up with your medication afterwards.”

He shrugged. “I’m already on antibiotics and enzymes. It wouldn’t be that different.”

She chuckled. “You’d be surprised. But you’d be fairly easy to match as well,” she said, glancing at his information on her computer screen. “A-positive blood type and you’re a normal sized young man. I’m certain that if you get on the list, you’ll have a transplant within a few months.”

Michael smiled. “Thanks.”

He was dismissed with his new prescriptions and he filled them in the pharmacy before he pretended to be very interested in different facial cleansers while he waited for fifteen minutes for his prescription to be ready. He could always come back tomorrow – he had enough pills – but it would require getting out of bed on one of his last days off when all he wanted to do was sit around and sleep the day away.

Michael got his prescription after reading all the ingredients in some acne cream just for fun and he dropped it off at home before he got changed for Luke’s birthday. His parents had figured out that they were seeing each other and kept bothering Michael, wondering when they were going to meet their son’s boyfriend, but Michael kept insisting that they weren’t using the B-word yet and if they could do that as well it would be great. Of course, his parents turned up the teasing, which he didn’t altogether mind.

“Seeing your boyfriend?” Daryl asked as Michael checked his reflection in the hall mirror.

“Celebrating his birthday with some friends, dad,” Michael said, coughing.

“Are you well enough? Do you have your enzymes?” Karen asked.

Michael grabbed his watch and started doing it up. “Yeah, I’m well enough and yes, I have my enzymes.”

“Will you be home tonight?” Karen asked.

“Probably,” Michael said, grabbing his shoes. “I’ll text you if plans change.”

“Do you have a condom?” Daryl teased.

Michael groaned, which made him cough again. “ _Dad_.”

They both laughed. “Safe sex is important, Michael,” Daryl said. “So be sure to use a condom if you are having sex.”

“Dad, I’m eighteen, I don’t need another sex talk.”

“You never know!”

He groaned. “Love you both, I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun!” They called to his back as he went out and got into his car.

Dinner went absolutely perfectly. Michael supposed that Calum had had a chat with all of their mutual friends telling them to not ask about Michael’s cough or his pills but even when he had a coughing fit, no one asked about it or gave him dirty looks. Luke had a great time as well and he was surprised with a piece of cake on the house at the end of their meal, getting sung to by the servers. Michael even let himself have a drink, knowing that he was okay to drink.

After dinner, Luke planned on leaving with Ashton and Calum, going back to Calum’s place for a second party. “Are you coming?” He asked.

“I’m pretty tired,” Michael said, collecting his coat and stuffing the receipt he didn’t want into his jacket.

“I want to spend more time with you,” Luke pouted.

“Hmm, well, I’ll come for a little bit,” Michael said, smiling. “For you.”

Luke beamed. “You’re the best,” he said.

They went to Calum’s, where there was beer for whoever wanted it and couches for them all to sit on and chill. After about an hour, when a few of Calum’s friends had gone outside for a smoke (even though they wanted Michael and Luke to come with to chat but Michael was adamantly against it because he read somewhere that smoke can lower his lung function by ten percent and even though he wanted a lung transplant (maybe) he didn’t want one ASAP), Michael leaned over and kissed Luke’s cheek.

“I’m going to head home,” he said quietly.

“Can I come?” Luke giggled, his face flushed from the alcohol he’d been sipping all night.

He was teasing but Michael still nodded. “Absolutely.”

Luke giggled, looking at him. “Really? You’ll take me home?”

“My parents have wanted to meet you ever since I told them about you,” he said, smiling. “But I want to go to bed.”

“I want to ride you,” he whispered into his ear, giggling.

“You’re drunk,” Michael laughed, standing.

They said goodbye to Calum and Ashton, Luke popping outside to say goodbye to his friends who were smoking while Michael went out to his car.

“I’m not drunk,” Luke said as he got in the car, smelling like cigarettes and Michael coughed. “I am _tipsy._ ”

Michael laughed. “Yeah, well, you’re still too intoxicated for me to consider having sex with you, especially in my parents’ house.”

Luke pouted. “Handies?”

“If you drink a big glass of water and eat some crackers for me when we get home.”

He smiled and relaxed into the back of his seat. Michael took him home, led him in where his parents had already gone to bed and got him two glasses of water. He made Luke drink both before he fed him a handful of crackers, sitting in the kitchen.

“I really can’t eat another cracker,” Luke whined.

“Come on,” Michael said, holding the cracker in front of Luke’s mouth. Luke sighed and leaned over to take it into his mouth before he crunched on it.

“Can we go make out now?” Luke asked with his mouth full, inadvertently spraying crumbs around.

Michael laughed. “When you’re done your damn cracker,” he said.

“Nah, I wanna go down on you with cracker in my mouth,” Luke giggled, covering his mouth. “Thanks for the crackers. I feel a lot more sober.”

Michael smiled. “Come on, let’s get upstairs,” he said, clearing up the glass Luke had drank out of and putting the crackers in the cupboard.

Luke stood as well and followed him upstairs, taking his hand as they walked and Michael shut the door behind them, turning the light on. His room was messy – he’d gotten a semblance of order happening in his dorm with his meds but moving back home for a few weeks had caused an absolute disaster in his room. His vest was the only thing properly put away because it was so expensive.

Luke leaned up immediately and kissed him before Michael could apologize for how messy his room was. Michael’s heart skipped a beat and his chest sparked in a slight pain but it was good, it was good. Luke took a step back, stepping on an empty pill bottle by the crunch of the plastic and he pulled away, looking down at it.

“God, I thought I’d broken something,” he laughed.

“No, I’m just a pig,” Michael chuckled, wrapping his arms around Luke’s waist. “Come on, let’s get to the bed.”

“Are you really gonna give me a birthday handjob in your childhood bedroom?” Luke asked as they sat on the bed.

Michael shrugged. “Worse has happened.”

Luke giggled. “Mmm, I wanna hear all about that.”

Michael leaned in and kissed him again, pulling him down against the bed. Luke fell back easily, languid, their lips pressed together and moving slowly as Luke manoeuvred on top of him, a tough feat in his skinny jeans. Michael placed his hand on his thigh and Luke tensed for a solid second before he relaxed and moved down a bit more, their crotches almost flush against each other and he didn’t know if it was Luke’s thigh or his cock against his thigh.

Luke pulled away and sat up, straddling Michael at his point, and Michael reached up from the back of his thigh and started unbuttoning his shirt. Luke smiled, pulling it off after he undid the top few buttons and pushed Michael’s shirt up. It was cool and he was worried that he was too thin and he looked like a skeleton – which made him think momentarily about Holly and how now she was a skeleton and at some point, before everyone else around his age – but he stopped and remembered he was with Luke and Luke was safe.

Michael pulled his shirt off and took a breath, reminding himself that the spot on his chest where his port was coincided with the spot that most people liked to kiss and bite at and that it was another thing that made him different.

He shut the thought down as Luke kissed him again, quickly before sitting up and fumbling with the button of his jeans. “You okay?” Luke asked, cheeks flushed maybe from alcohol or maybe from being turned on.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Yeah. You aren’t drunk are you?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I want to do this.”

“I just don’t want you to regret it when you’re sober again.”

“’Course not,” he said. “It’s with you. I want this. I’m sober enough for this.”

Michael smiled and let Luke tug down his pants. “Okay, stop, I’m getting you off first.”

Luke pouted.

“It’s your _birthday_.”

Luke giggled and laid down on the bed beside him. “Then I expect your best blowjob.”

Michael smiled and sat up, tugging Luke’s pants down. “Yeah? I’ll probably cough on your dick.”

Luke laughed. “You don’t have to,” he said. “Anything is good. Just as long as it’s with you.”

“You’re so cute,” Michael said, realizing with a slight pang that he was into Luke. Like, really into him. And that the thought of sitting in bed all day with him didn’t make him feel as though he’d be as agonizingly bored as he’d be on his own but it would just be a really nice day and he felt like he wouldn’t even mind doing his treatments if Luke were there.

“Hard, too,” Luke mumbled as Michael got his pants off, revealing his boxers (plain, black, unassuming) and the outline of his hard cock trapped under the fabric.

“Beautiful,” Michael whispered, letting his palm graze over his dick as he reached up to pull his boxers down.

Luke inhaled quietly, eyes shutting at the slight contact on his cock. “Wait,” he whispered.

The tips of Michael’s fingers were just sliding under the elastic waistband and he paused, not moving a muscle as Luke told him to wait.

“I – uhm,” he mumbled, face growing red. “I didn’t shave… It – my skin is really sensitive and it – it just… razor burn…”

Michael blinked. Without even meaning to, he started to chuckle. “That’s _fine_ , Luke,” he said, leaning down to kiss his hot cheek. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Luke glanced at him quickly. “Just warning you…”

Michael tugged his boxers down slowly. “You can tell me to stop at any time, okay? Just let me know if you get uncomfortable,” he said, keeping his eyes on Luke’s face to check for discomfort. Finding no signs, he slid his boxers off and tossed them aside; they could find them in the morning.

“Please touch me,” Luke whispered.

Michael wrapped his hand around Luke’s cock, turning his head away to cough as he reached over into his drawers for the lube he kept (mostly for masturbation, but also for other people). He pumped his hand slowly as he tried to open the bottle of lube one-handed and he watched Luke exhale and relax back into his pillow. He pulled his hand away just long enough to squeeze some lube onto it and he spread it with his other hand to warm it. Luke peered at him, tongue swiping out to poke at his lip ring.

He took Luke’s cock into his hand again, stroking him more smoothly and leaning down to kiss at his nipples. It elicits a high whine from Luke and he pushes his hips up, begging for more, and Michael moved his hand faster, lightly closing his teeth around his nipple.

“Fuck,” Luke breathed, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Fuck, I’m not going to last.”

“Gonna come for me?” Michael asked, running his thumb over the tip of his cock and feeling the precome warm on the pad of his finger.

Luke whimpered, pushing his head back into the pillows. Michael watched him, feeling his own cock strain against his boxers and his pants as Luke writhed against his mattress. He moved his hand faster, watching as Luke tensed and kind of curled up, into a kind of a crunch, as he came, his spunk spurting out of his cock and onto his chest.

Michael smiled, feeling his cock twitching and a gob of precome wet the inside of his boxers. “So pretty,” he says.

Luke panted quietly, the hint of a whine on the end of his voice. “Can’t wait to see you come as well.”

Michael grabbed a tissue, wiping Luke’s chest with it and kissing his clavicle. “Please, I’m really hard.”

Luke pushed him back onto the bed, tugging his boxers down and rubbing his thumb over the head while he grabbed the lube. When his hand was slicked up with it, he pumped his hand quickly and it only took a few seconds before Michael was an undone mess, whimpering under him and quickly coming apart, coming over his chest.

They cleaned up – Michael, mostly, because he knew where the cloths were – and Michael joined him in bed, snuggling close and savouring the feeling of sleeping next to someone he really, really liked in his own bed while his lungs felt good. (He wondered if life was this good all the time for able-bodied people who weren’t afflicted with CF.)

“We should make this official,” Michael said, suddenly realizing that he was having _that_ talk and his heart thumped against his chest.

Luke looked at him with a smile playing on his lips and then he glanced over at Michael’s alarm clock. “Not yet, it’s still my birthday. We can’t have our anniversary on my birthday.”

“But the day after your birthday is fine? And come on, can’t we have our anniversary as when we started dating, not when we made it official?” Michael teased.

Luke giggled, kissing his nose. “Yeah,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

“Fine, I’ll ask you again when it clicks over to midnight,” he said. “And then our anniversary will be the day after your birthday.”

Luke smiled and cuddled close to him, kissing his bare chest. “How much longer until midnight?”

Michael sighed, like turning around to glance at the clock was a huge chore. “Ten more minutes.”

“That’s so long,” Luke whined, giggling. “I’m so sleepy.”

“You’re a lightweight,” Michael laughed, kissing his cheek.

“Yeah, but so are you,” Luke teased. “At least I _drink_.”

“Ouch,” Michael giggled, snuggling closer.

They fell silent, just basking in being close to each other and the comfort that comes from skin-to-skin contact. Luke’s breathing evened out after a while and Michael nudged him awake shortly after twelve, when he opened his eyes and tried his hardest not to fall asleep.

“What?” Luke whined, rubbing his eyes.

“Be my boyfriend,” Michael said, yawning.

“’Kay,” Luke said, adjusting into a new position. “Now let me sleep, boyfriend.”

“Night, boyfriend,” Michael said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think with kudos, comments or come chat on me tumblr, which is mochalou!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, fluff! thank you for sticking with me and leaving such wonderful comments for me to read. i appreciate every single reader, comment or not, so i just want to say thank you!!!

They slept curled up together, waking up past ten in the morning. Luke played with Michael’s hair while he did his vest and coughed, while he did his morning routine that Luke had never seen before. Michael worried it would gross him out, the hacking and coughing up phlegm into a tissue, but Luke didn’t seem to mind, just commented that the transient vibrations from the vest felt odd against his legs.

Michael realized that he’d just sent his parents a quick text last night explaining that his friend Luke was coming over and he now had to introduce them. He decided not to make a big deal out of it, just get up and make it seem like a huge coincidence that his parents were home and he’d brought his boyfriend home.

“Want breakfast?” Michael asked as he tucked his vest away and coughed.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Wait, are your parents home?”

Michael nodded cautiously. “Yeah…”

“I have to meet them…”

“Yeah…”

Luke blinked at him. “I regret this decision immensely,” he said. “Not being your boyfriend, but like, coming to your house. This is a bit early.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “You’re going to be subjected to the diagnosis story.”

Luke cracked a smile. “They’ll be okay with this?”

“They’re pretty chill people,” Michael said. “They’ll be fine with this.”

“Okay…”

“You’ll be fine,” Michael promised, kissing his nose. He stood up and pulled on a sweater, glancing in his bedroom mirror and fluffing up his hair.

Luke stood as well, dressed in a pair of Michael’s sweats and one of his old high-school t-shirts. He folded his hand into Michael’s and together they walked downstairs to the kitchen where he could hear something sizzling in a pan.

Karen looked up from the table, the newspaper folded open on the table in front of her while she sipped her tea. His parents always teased each other for their morning beverage choice: tea and coffee, and Michael found it endearing. His dad stood at the stove, a splatter-guard over the cast iron pan and he smelled bacon and his stomach rumbled.

“Oh, good morning,” Karen said.

“Morning,” Michael said. “This is Luke. My, uh, my boyfriend.”

Luke gave an awkward wave, half-hiding behind Michael. “Hi,” he said, voice tiny.

Daryl smiled. “Oh, so you’re the boy Michael has been talking about,” he said. “And you visited him in the hospital?”

Luke nodded and Michael glanced at him, finding his cheeks ruddy and the rest of his face ghost-pale, like he was worried he’d done something wrong by visiting Michael. “Yeah…”

Michael looked at them. “How’d you know that?”

Karen shrugged. “Your nurse finked,” she said. “But we really appreciate that you visited Michael in the hospital, Luke.”

Luke grinned a little. “Thanks.”

“Do you two want some breakfast?” Daryl asked, removing the splatter guard to push the bacon around with a wooden spoon.

“Yeah, that smells amazing,” Michael said, shuffling over to the table and motioning for Luke to sit. He took the spare seat at the table. It was a table fit for a family of four and could squeeze six and it was a constant reminder to Michael that he was supposed to have siblings but he didn’t.

Luke took his hand under the table as Michael’s parents asked where he went to high school, what his major was (“oh, how interesting!” Karen remarked) and his family, all the pleasant small talk that Michael expected. They asked about his childhood, things Michael had completely forgotten to ask about, and he learned that Luke was in a club legitimately dedicated to _Harry Potter_ , where he made “dragon’s blood,” the bottle of which he still had on his desk at home. His parents, and himself, told stories of when Michael was a child, all of them sharing stories and experiences and laughing until Michael coughed and remembered to fetch his meds.

He set the divider onto the table in front of him, remembering the bottle of enzymes as well and setting them out so he’d remember to take them once he had eaten. He could take them without food, but the current antibiotics he was swallowing were harder on his stomach than he was used to and he just didn’t want to get sick since he was thin enough as it is.

“Has Michael told you how he was diagnosed?” Karen asked as Daryl brought their food and Michael poured himself – and Luke, for good measure – a glass of orange juice.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, walking back to the table and handing Luke a glass of orange juice. It was the store-bought no-pulp shit (and Michael liked the pulp, it felt more real) but it was adequate.

“Well, when he was a few weeks old, we knew something was off,” Karen explained. “You know, he wasn’t gaining much weight even though he kept feeding all the time, which was kind of nice for me.”

“Mum,” Michael whined, starting to shovel scrambled eggs in his mouth. He’d heard this story about a million times and he didn’t really want Luke’s first meeting with his parents to centre around breastfeeding.

“We told you that you’d have to hear this story a lot,” Daryl teased.

He sighed, resigned, and just tried to enjoy his eggs and bacon and vegemite toast in peace.

“Anyway, we weren’t _too_ concerned about the health issues since Michael was our first, and only, baby and maybe that was normal,” Daryl shrugged. “We thought that if there was something seriously wrong, the doctor would mention it the next time we saw her.”

“But a friend of ours threw an engagement party and my parents babysat Michael. My mum is a baby genius,” Karen explained. “She babysat for her parents’ friends all the time when I was a kid and worked at a daycare before she had kids. She knew when a baby was crying for food or attention. Like, she’s fucking psychic.”

Michael turned to Luke as the blond nibbled on his toast. “My gran is a fucking psychic,” he deadpanned. “You heard it here first.”

Luke laughed, covering over his mouth as his mouth opened and he tried to hide the toast-crumbs in his mouth.

“Anyway, we take him to the doctor and every single person is all nervous and big, fake smiles, you know? It’s always what they do when they have bad news and don’t want to tell you. She told us and gave a big bottle of Creon and explained how to administer it and, of course, it was pretty devastating. But anyway, you’ve seen the enzymes, right?”

Luke nodded, hand still protectively over his mouth.

“We had to open the capsules and pour the beads into his mouth and make sure he swallowed them all. And this is infant from Hell we’re talking about.”

Luke laughed and Michael sighed, tearing his bacon apart. “And so you dealt with infant from Hell and did not kill him, which is the reason Luke is here now.”

Luke smiled. “Well, I’m glad that you didn’t kill him, Mr. and Mrs. Clifford,” he said.

Immediately, a flutter of “oh no” and “please, Daryl” bombarded down on Luke, whose eyes widened. “They prefer their first names,” Michael laughed, kissing his cheek. “Or mum and dad.”

“Please, Karen and Daryl is just fine,” she explained.

Luke smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

And somehow, Michael felt like he would fit in just fine.

 

Because Michael had introduced Luke to his family, Luke pointed out the obvious, that Michael had to meet his family now. Michael agreed; he did have to meet Luke’s family eventually and there was really no point in delaying it. Luke organized a dinner, a Sunday roast, to meet his parents and his two older brothers. He gave him pointers on both, but Michael kept getting their names mixed up and he was unsure he would be able to get them right when he met them, but Luke promised it was easy.

“Of course it’s easy for you,” he pointed out. “You grew up with them.”

Luke shrugged and pulled him close, kissing the top of his head where the purple was beginning to fade to a lilac shade. “You’ll be _fine_ , I promise. They don’t bite.”

“Uh-huh,” Michael hummed, unconvinced that Luke’s brothers would not take his head off at the slightest hint of hurting their baby brother.

“What are you worried about?” Luke asked quietly.

Michael shrugged. “That they won’t like me… that I’ll have a coughing fit and die in your bathroom… Or that I’ll have a coughing fit and puke in your bathroom.”

“I’ve already told them you’re sick,” Luke said. “They’ll understand.”

Michael looked at him. It had been so _easy_ and effortless when he introduced Luke to his parents, since they had spent the night together and sine Michael’s parents were used to all the coughing by now and Luke was slowly acclimatising to it. He just wanted that same degree of effortlessness where he didn’t worry about what to wear and if he should dye his hair black or brown so that they wouldn’t judge him, even though, as Luke pointed out, they let Luke get his lip pierced without any fuss.

“You’ll be fine,” Luke said. “It’s like a first date.”

“Only worse,” Michael mumbled into Luke’s chest, taking in the scent of his bargain-brand laundry detergent and his deodorant.

“Just be yourself,” Luke said, kissing his cheek. “They’re friendly people.”

Michael nodded. “Okay…”

So that Sunday, Michael tried on a myriad of outfits, wondering which one he should pick and which one was the most parent appropriate. University dating was weird, he decided as he pulled on a flannel and looked at his reflection in the mirror. High school dating was easier because it was a smaller dating pool to choose from and he’d grown up in a relatively small area where most of the parents knew each other and kids knew each other’s parents. Mary’s dad was the minister of the church Michael went to a small handful of times and Hannah’s mum was the local librarian. Back then, meeting the parents wasn’t so damn hard because he already knew them.

He finally decided upon a Nirvana sweater, because it was cold out (and he worried about wearing his Sex Pistols shirt to dinner) along with a jacket and a pair of black jeans. It was good, he told himself as he turned his body to see if the pants were too tight around the ass, even though he hardly _had_ an ass to begin with. He wondered if he should change into something a little more formal, like he wore to his grandparents’ house for Christmas and Easter, but he worried that then he would be overdressed.

Michael sighed and coughed, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it cooperate for once in his damn life. He also wanted his lungs to cooperate and he looked down at his chest, mumbling, “Just work with me guys.”

His phone buzzed on his bed and he coughed, sitting on the edge of his bed and unlocking it.

 _Luke_  
3:45PM  
it isn’t even 4 and my parents are worried about if you’re okay because you aren’t here yet. good luck when u do get here lol :~)

Michael chuckled and tapped out a reply:

 _Michael_  
3:46PM  
omg well I’m on my way don’t let them bug u babe

His phone buzzed after a minute.

 _Luke_  
3:47PM  
thank u

Michael shoved his phone into his pocket and went downstairs, sitting on the stairs as he pulled his shoes on. “I’m off!” He called to his parents.

“Good luck, love you,” Daryl called. “So does your mum.”

“Love you, too,” he said, grabbing his keys and going to the car.

Luke lived a half hour car ride away, in a house painted a very pleasant periwinkle hue with white trim and a neatly mowed lawn with very few flowers in the garden and a fenced-off vegetable garden. Michael noted the bikes just behind the fence in the backyard, locked up just in case (he remembered a story on the news about bike thefts), and two cars in the driveway side-by-side with what seemed to be motorcycles in the carport.

Michael went up to the door, taking one last look at his outfit in the curtain covered downstairs windows before he knocked on the door and checked the time. He was a few minutes early but he didn’t mind too much. He hoped that Luke’s parents would think he was punctual, and not the weird kid who carried his backpack around everywhere with him because he didn’t want to just have his enzymes sitting on the table (not even for embarrassment factors and being _different_ but because he’d forgotten them so many times at friend’s houses and he ended up eating a late night snack without them and regretting it).

Luke opened the door and wrapped his arms around him immediately. “God, they’ve been _grilling_ me asking where you are,” he mumbled.

Michael laughed. “I’d have been here earlier,” he said, kissing the top of his head. “If you’d just told me.”

He smiled. “Both my brothers are here,” he said. “And my aunt and my uncle and my cousin and his wife and their two kids…”

Michael’s face fell. “I…”

“I’m kidding!” Luke laughed. “I’d never shove you into that. That’s for like, Christmas or Australia Day or something.”

Michael laughed and snuggled close. “You’re the worst.”

Luke rubbed his back. “Come on in, love. It’s just my brothers. We even talked Jack out of bringing his girlfriend.”

“Oh, good,” Michael chuckled as he came into the house. He toed off his shoes into a neat pile beside the shoe rack they had and Luke led him into the living room.

His brothers were sitting on the couch, eyes glued to their phones, and he could hear people in the kitchen, who he assumed were Luke’s parents. He tried to remember their names. Andy and Liz? He panicked over whether to address them by surname or full name or wait for them to introduce themselves. (Once again, meeting the parents used to be so easy. Simpler times.)

Luke cleared his throat. The taller brother, sprawled into the corner of the couch with his legs spread wide, looked up from his phone and smiled, standing.

“Hi, you must be Michael,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Luke’s brother, Jack.”

Michael shook his hand while Luke opened his mouth to say that wasn’t really a good idea.

The other boy stood up, shorter with shorter hair and he shook Michael’s hand as well. “Ben,” he said. “It’s good to meet you, we’ve heard all about you.”

Michael laughed and looked at Luke, whose face was red. “Good things?”

“Mostly, ‘ahhh Ben help, the boy I have a giant crush on is in the hospital do I go visit?’ Like yeah, of course, it shows you care,” Ben teased and Luke pushed his face into Michael’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re all right though,” Jack said. “From being in the hospital.”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Michael said. “That was a while ago, actually, but I’m doing a lot better. And the flowers he got me were lovely, they really spruced up my room.”

“You got your own room?” Ben asked. “Man, I got my appendix out a while ago and I shared a room with a few old dudes.”

Michael laughed. “That was probably the recovery ward. On the cystic fibrosis ward, they have to give you your own room for infection risk.”

Both blond brothers blinked. “Sorry, mate, you just said a lot of very medical words to me and I have a degree in musical theory,” Jack said.

“That’s a cool degree to have, actually,” Michael beamed. “But yeah, I guess Luke hasn’t told you. I have cystic fibrosis which is a genetic condition that affects mostly my lungs. Mucus builds up and I get a lot of infections from it so I get antibiotics on the regular to avoid, well, dying.”

After a moment of quiet, Ben stepped in. “Oh, yeah, Eric had that, remember?” He asked, turning to Jack.

Jack nodded. “Right, right. Eric was my ex’s brother, and coincidentally, Ben’s best friend in year eight.”

“It’s not super uncommon, but I don’t think I’ve met him,” he chuckled. “So I obviously don’t go to the same hospital.”

“Luke!” A woman, Luke’s mum, called from the kitchen. “Is your boyfriend here yet?”

Luke flushed and Michael grinned at him. “Yes, Michael is here,” he said, a mumbling quality to his voice. Michael kissed his cheek and straightened up as he heard people approaching.

“Michael,” said the woman (Liz. Her name is Liz) as she entered. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

He beamed and shook her hand, reminding himself to wash it soon. “It’s lovely to meet you, too, Mrs. Hemmings.”

She laughed. “Oh, God, call me Liz,” she said. “Mrs. Hemmings is my mother-in-law. Andy’s just finishing up dinner prep in the kitchen.”

Michael chuckled. “Sorry, I’m never sure what to call people’s parents.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “Come on, sit down, get comfortable. Is there anything I can get you? Water, maybe beer?”

“No, thank you,” he said as Luke led him to the loveseat and sat with him, chastely taking his hand instead of snuggling.

“Sure, of course,” she smiled as Michael coughed a little. “Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“He’s fine,” Luke put in.

“Just dying at a slightly more accelerated pace than the rest of you,” Michael whispered, causing Luke to giggle.

Andy came in, drying his hands on some paper towel that he tossed away. “Hey, you’re Michael, right?”

Michael nodded, his own giggles fading into a polite smile. “Yeah, you must be Andy? It’s great to meet you.”

He smiled. “Didn’t think your hair would be purple…”

He chuckled, messing it up with his hand a little bit. “Yeah…” he said, unsure if it was compliment or a hint to Luke to not date boys with coloured hair anymore.

“I love it,” Andy smiled. “Somewhere we have photos of Luke with blue hair when he was about ten.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Luke groaned. “Please don’t show him the embarrassing baby photos.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Liz said. “I’ll just grab the preteen and childhood photos.”

“Or your prom photos,” Ben laughed.

Luke groaned and put his head on Michael’s shoulder.

Michael did get a viewing of Luke’s younger-self photos, and it was incredible. Luke blushed his way through all of them, trying to cover his genitals in the bath shots even though they both knew Michael had already seen Luke’s penis (but this was too awkward to talk about in front of Luke’s parents). There were a few photos with a boy near the end of the album, all the photos printed out and meticulously put into an album, and Luke stopped blushing and went quiet.

“Um, that’s Marc,” Liz said quietly.

“Oh,” he said, looking over Luke’s ex. He was shorter than Luke (a very easy feat) and his hair was brown and his smile was too big for his face. They both looked so happy. Michael couldn’t place how old they were – maybe sixteen? – but Luke’s hair was longer and messier and his cheeks had a babyish quality to them that made Michael think he was young.

They flipped the page of the album, skipping a few years, because the photos were all from Luke’s graduation, the portraits with his school colours on his robe and the dumb cap on his head and a big cheesy grin followed by an overly serious shot.

“I wanted to get this one in black and white,” Luke said, chuckling but still tense from the brief viewing of his ex. “Get it all serious and shit.”

Michael laughed. “Who’s your grad date?” He asked, pointing to the posed photos of him and a girl in a red dress.

“Her name’s Florencia,” he said. “She was an international student from Brazil, I think, and she was great, so I took her to grad.”

Michael smiled. “That’s lovely,” he said, still staring at the photos. “She looks gorgeous.”

Luke pouted. “What about me?” He whined.

He leaned over and pecked his lips. “You look _stunning_.”

His cheeks reddened and he giggled, snuggling ever closer.

“Gross!” called Jack from on the other couch, a fond smile on his face.

Luke gave him the middle finger.

“Don’t be rude,” Michael chastised, laughing. “He’s your brother and he’s happy you’re happy.”

Luke beamed, his eyes lighting up as he laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. It hit Michael that his chest didn’t hurt, that he didn’t feel overly congested or tired or in pain. He felt _good_. He felt healthy and he felt normal.

He felt like things with him weren’t as different, not with Luke.

Dinner went perfectly. Michael didn’t feel so awkward taking his enzymes in front of Luke’s family and he felt comfortable explaining what they were to his family and explaining his illness. Nothing felt awkward or forced or where they were just trying to be _nice_.

Afterwards, they were shooed out of the kitchen despite Michael’s insistence that he wanted to help clean up and Luke showed him his childhood bedroom. It had a massive bed, obviously chosen to accommodate his large frame, and was decorated with posters tacked to the wall.

“Green Day, Blink-182, All Time Low…” Michael hummed, looking around the room. “I love it. Wait. Is that Taylor Swift?”

Luke blushed. “Well… I’m kind of a fan.”

He laughed. “It’s okay, I had a very large obsession with Avril Lavigne. Unfortunately never saw her live.”

Luke smiled. “I went to Taylor’s tour over the summer. It was _so good_.”

Michael giggled and kissed Luke quickly as he looked over his desk. It was so different from his own desk, home or school, with a speaker for his phone and his driver’s licence and assorted tickets from transit. There was a hairbrush, some hairspray, some styling wax, and some acne cream, and a few assorted pill containers. Michael looked at them, seeing the ibuprofen and the antihistamines, all fairly normal things, until he got to a small pile of blister packs. Medicine interested him so he turned, pointing at them.

“What are those?” He asked. He knew Luke didn’t have to tell him if he was uncomfortable, but Michael was honestly just curious.

Luke stepped over and picked up the two flats. “This one is my migraine medication and this one is, uh, it’s my anti-anxiety meds.”

“Oh,” he said. “You get migraines?”

“Yeah, mum passed the gene onto me,” he chuckled quietly. “I don’t get them too often, normally about once a month?”

“Like a period,” Michael teased.

Luke grinned bashfully. “Like my own, hellish period. Or pregnancy, I guess, since any smell makes me vomit.”

“Any smell?”

“Mostly food smells,” he said. “But also some other smells. Really, most smells.”

Michael pulled him close and kissed his head. “I’m sorry, babe.”

Luke shrugged and smiled. “Not your fault.”

“Just genetics,” Michael smiled, thinking that both of them had genetics that caused shitty things – cystic fibrosis and migraines.

Luke smiled and wrapped his arms around him. “Yeah.”

“So why aren’t there any pictures of you between Marc and grad?” Michael asked, truly just curious. There were photos through all years and all months of his life, family dinners and picnics, but between the photos with Marc and his grad photos, it was a year or two lost.

“I, uh, my anxiety was really bad,” he said. “I missed the entire summer because I was too busy panicking and having migraines and panicking about that.”

Michael rubbed at his back, grabbing onto the back of his flannel after a while. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Luke shrugged. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m just… there’s a time and a place, y’know?”

Michael looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Luke looked down, a few inches separating their mouths and Michael wanted to kiss him but he didn’t want to seem overeager.

“My parents really like my boyfriend,” Luke said quietly, a grin spreading across his face. “They really, really like you.”

Michael flushed and shoved his face into Luke’s neck. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Luke said quietly. “And my brothers like you, too.”

“They do not,” Michael mumbled. “They think I’m a geek.”

“Babe… _I_ think you’re a geek.”

Michael laughed and snuggled closer. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll take that, then.”

Luke brushed a hand through his hair and smiled. “Good,” he whispered, sending shivers down Michael’s spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on my Tumblr, which is mochalou


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is to celebrate the fact i have a new job and i love it! anyway it's a little on the long side so enjoy!!!

After three cheesy, over-the-top month-iversaries, Michael was almost sure he was in love. There was a little ache in his chest – a good one – that only ever increased around Luke and he felt absolutely smitten with the boy. Ashton was elated that he had finally made a good match and they both fell into a rhythm of the new semester. They did homework, they slacked off and they arranged a study group in the library and everything.

But just as everything had to, it began to fall apart.

His chest hurt, he never felt like eating and his cough worsened. His sputum tasted awful and looked different and he _knew_ he had some new, awful infection. He could hardly go to class: walking there resulted in awful coughing fits and he had to pause on his way to the furthest building.

Michael drove to the CF clinic after he coughed up blood, which had happened before many times, but with all the other symptoms it made him worry about his lung function. Ashton was worried, too, never having experienced Michael being this sick, and Michael just wanted a diagnosis and some antibiotics so he could get his ass back to class and not flunk out.

“Health before school,” he mumbled as he parked. It was okay to flunk out. It was okay for him to have to withdraw from his courses because of his health. It was all okay. He had to focus on living before he could focus on his schoolwork.

He went inside, getting blood tests and doing a sputum sample for them before he was subjected to a myriad of new tests, all squeezing him in between the other people. While they were waiting to see the results of his sputum test, the nurses and doctors hummed and hawed over whether or not to admit him and Michael sat back in the chair he was in. They took his sats and gave him something to help with the chest pain but not anything to help with the cough; it was best to hack it all up until he was purple in the face.

They decided to admit him and Michael got his phone once he got to his room, taking off his mask and calling Ashton. He could text him but Ashton was awful at responding to texts and he was fairly certain Ashton was either in their dorm or the library.

“Hey, bud, you feeling any better?” Ashton asked.

“Nah,” Michael said softly, coughing.

“You sound like shit.”

“Yeah, well, the clinic has decided to admit me,” he said. “So, can you bring me some things?”

He heard Ashton stand in the background. “Yeah, absolutely,” he said. “Pajamas and sweats and toiletries?”

“Yeah, and the comfiest shirts you can find in my dresser. Oh, and my meds! Please and thank you.”

“Gotcha,” Ashton laughed.

“You’re the best.”

Michael called his parents after he spoke to Ashton, explaining that he was okay and he had some infection and he just wanted to update them. He texted Luke, telling him that he couldn’t make their Friday date because he was hospitalized and Luke responded alarmed, worried that Michael had taken Calum’s place as the car crash victim. He didn’t get a chance to resume the conversation, to calm Luke down, because his fleet of doctors walked inside to deliver the news about his various tests.

His oxygen saturation was a little low and his lung function had declined a shocking amount in such a short amount of time since he was last tested. They were certain he had an infection and they immediately put him on antibiotics.

Ashton dropped off his things, leaving them on the side table before sitting in the chair. “You okay?”

Michael yawned. “Really, really tired,” he mumbled.

“Well, get some sleep, then,” Ashton said. “You’ve got your things and a line in your chest so you seem good.”

Michael smiled. “Thanks, Ash, you’re the best.”

“Anytime,” he beamed, standing. “Sleep tight.”

Michael curled up in his blankets, his phone set atop his bag and set on silent while he slept. When he woke up, he reached for his phone and saw he had a few unread texts from Luke, asking if he was okay and if he could come and visit him. He responded that he was fine, he just had an infection, and Luke could absolutely come visit if he wanted. Luke was in class, Michael guessed by his lack of response, so he texted him his room number and which nurse to talk to so he could gain entry and not get the “sorry, love, he’s asleep” response from Janet.

He dozed for a while, the tiny TV in the corner of the room playing the news and the plastic-covered remote sitting looped through his bedrail on the side-table. He woke up to entertainment news talking about Drake and Rihanna in her new video and he rubbed his eyes, his half-asleep brain convincing him that he was in that smoky club grinding on people with a drink in hand. But the pain in his chest and the fact he was sweating reminded him that he would never be in a smoky club dancing and drinking because he had CF.

“Good morning,” said Luke from somewhere next to him. “Or, well, afternoon, I guess.”

Michael lolled his head over and smiled. “Good morning.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Hmm, sick,” he shrugged. “Very congested.”

“Oh, do you need a tissue?”

“No, like, lung congestion,” Michael explained. “I feel like I have to cough but I know it’ll hurt.”

Luke frowned. “My brother got pneumonia once and coughed so much he broke a rib. Sure that didn’t happen to you?”

Michael laughed. “That happens sometimes,” he said. “But I guess we’ll find out when I get an x-ray later.”

“Isn’t that like, bad?”

He shrugged. “I mean, it happens. It’s not great but I cough enough that they don’t have to tell me to cough once every hour to help heal the rib.”

Luke chuckled. “That’s very true. I wish I could know what it’s like, for just a day or something, so I could be more helpful.”

Michael hummed, shutting his eyes. “A day wouldn’t be good enough. You’d need a week or so, just to see that every day is different.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, there’s some days my lungs just don’t cooperate. And days when I forget my enzymes and days where I’m on a strong antibiotic and I just feel so sick and days where I realize I haven’t eaten and I have to force myself to eat. It’s so weird how one day you can feel fine and the next you just… feel awful.”

Luke blinked and took Michael’s hand, which wasn’t gloved, but he’d remember to wash his hands or do something. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Michael whispered, coughing again. “You okay?”

Luke nodded. “Just kinda got anxious when you didn’t answer my texts…” he whispered, looking down at his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Michael said. “I’m not gonna do that to you.”

Luke glanced at him, sighing.

“Promise,” he said, squeezing his hand.

“I know,” Luke mumbled. “It just scares me.”

“I know. But I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Luke nodded and took a breath. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Luke stayed and studied while Michael slept intermittently, visiting whenever he wasn’t bogged down with studying for the next week and a half. Michael stayed in the hospital, Ashton bringing him studying materials whenever he could, whenever he wasn’t too busy checking up on Calum, who was busy rehabbing his broken leg and their relationship (which was mostly repaired, but Ashton was still learning to accept all of it and it still was a probation period).

Michael felt marginally better after a week and a half of antibiotics and loads of sleeping in a hospital bed. Dr. Reynolds came in after a while with her hair coming loose of its bun, and explained that since his weight had dropped again since he’d been in the hospital, they were going to start NG tube feeding again. She also explained that he needed more time on IV antibiotics, things like gentamicin and other things that made him fairly dizzy, so they would teach him how to clean and access his own port so he could continue the treatment while in the comfort of his own dorm. They’d teach him how to put in his NG tube as well and dispose of needles and rent him all of this equipment he’d need.

Going back to his dorm was all right, he’d say. It disturbed Ashton terribly when Michael cleaned his port by looking in the mirror and flushing it with saline and pulling some blood. It hit Michael then that most people weren’t this used to needles, that most people still got a little lightheaded at the sight of blood. For Michael, they were all a part of his daily life and a part of his life whenever he had an infection. He didn’t _like_ needles, but he didn’t have the reaction most people had to them, the whinging, anxious reaction.

Ashton picked up an alcohol swab Michael had left on the floor as he hooked up his feeding tube and the port to the two IV bags, wondering how all of that liquid would fit inside his body and how all of it would go down before seven tomorrow morning, when he would wake up and try his hardest to go to class.

“You know, I understand the whole IV thing,” he said. “But these alcohol wipes are unacceptable, dude. Biohazard.”

Michael laughed, coughing. “You aren’t mad about the new sharps bin that’s made it into your dorm room?”

“Nah, I’m just mad about these alcohol wipes. They keep missing the damn trash.”

“ _I_ keep missing the trash. But it’s okay, I get to go back on Friday for more blood tests.”

Ashton made a face. “Honest to God, I cannot stand needles. They just make me so… blah.”

Michael laughed. “That’s how it was when I was little. And now it’s just normal.”

Ashton shuddered at the thought. “Cannot do it. Nope.”

Michael laughed again, pinching his cheek as Ashton picked up one of the liquid nutrition packets out of the garbage.

“Is this legitimately just baby food?”

He shrugged. “Essentially,” he said. “Just tasteless. But it’s great, I have my tummy again.”

Ashton looked at him and smiled fondly. “I’m glad you have your tummy again,” he said.

Michael smiled and hooked himself up to his IV pole, getting all the tubes in order before he laid down, tucking himself into his blankets and quickly falling asleep. His dreams were absurd, a side-effect of all the medication he was on and his subconscious understanding of the medicine he was on, but after a while they morphed into something closer to a nightmare. A beeping that wouldn’t stop, lung pain, coughing, and arms on his shoulders shaking him awake.

“Michael, wake up!” Ashton said, trying to grab things of Michael’s while waking him up and throwing them into his big sports bag. (At the beginning of the year, he was determined to go to the gym every day, because it was free with tuition, but it ended up being a couple of times a week since it was far and he was busy and sick.)

He woke up, coughing because something was wrong. It was smoky. Why the fuck was it smoky? He quickly bolted out of bed, grabbing a sweater because he needed fresh air and he needed it _now_ because smoke – smoke on top of a lung infection, no less – smoke was dangerous. He grabbed a sweater, a water bottle and he watched Ashton stuff his vest carefully into the sports bag. He held the sweater over his mouth, leaving the other IV packs because he had no time, he couldn’t take the elevator and stairs down were okay but left him winded and dizzy some days.

Ashton grabbed his arm, heaving the sports bag up, grabbing both their phones and quickly leading him out, where there was someone screaming, “leave your shit and _go_!” Michael thought that he couldn’t. His vest was so much money and he couldn’t afford a new one. But Ashton had it and he had his IV pole and he had to go. He had to go.

They went down the stairs, Michael still attached to all his tubes and things because it was too much time to tape everything down and take the bags down and do everything he had to do. Ashton led him down the stairs, to the blessedly less smoky air downstairs and outside, where Michael sat down hard on the grass where everyone in their dorm was congregating, coughing hard and deep as his lungs tried to rid themselves of the thick smoke inside.

Ashton helped him sit down against a tree, the bark tough against his back as he coughed. He knelt down in front of him. “Okay, I’m going to get someone to stay with you and I’ll go grab a paramedic.”

Michael nodded, any dregs of sleepiness gone because his lungs were working hard to get the soot out of his lungs. He tipped his head back, trying to catch his breath through his nose but he just incited more coughing because he was still downwind from the fire, from the smoke. It smelled vaguely of tobacco and nicotine and he wondered if someone was _smoking_ outside of a fire in the dorm.

Ashton grabbed a random girl, in cotton pajama shorts and a well-loved Bon Jovi shirt to stay with him and make sure he didn’t pass out or anything. She offered him water but he was coughing too hard to swallow it and ended up spitting it up all over the lawn with some phlegm, causing her to yelp and flinch back.

“My name is Aamenah,” she said.

He coughed, trying to speak through his cough and failing.

Ashton came back with a firefighter, too many paramedics taken up or maybe not even there yet. “Hi, Michael, I’m Jasmin,” she said. “The smoke is irritating your lungs?”

Michael nodded, trying to block the smoke from his mouth.

“I’m going to give you some oxygen, okay?” She said, fitting the mask around his head. The air being filtered in was cool, clear of smoke, and gave him a respite from the coughing. “Okay, is that better?”

He nodded, leaning his head back against the tree. “I have an NG feeding tube and IV antibiotics,” he explained, voice low and raspy. He rattled off his antibiotics before he started coughing again, trying to catch his breath because breathing was so nice.

Ashton frowned, his jaw tense. “Okay, okay,” Jasmin said. “Just try to get that oxygen in there, okay? I’m going to get a paramedic for you and they’ll take you to the hospital. Just try to breathe and I’ll be back with a stretcher.”

Michael nodded, retching from how hard he was coughing. His throat and chest hurt, his infection exacerbated by minor smoke inhalation, probably, and he thought about the small handful of times he’d been taken to the hospital before. Year six PE, he didn’t have his doctor’s note and the teacher made him do a run or threatened to fail him and so he did it, knowing full well that he would collapse at the end (which he did) and it scared the fuck out of his teacher. He went to the hospital, the coolest kid in the year, smug as hell.

Thinking Michael couldn’t hear him (he couldn’t) because of his cough, Ashton leaned down and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m going to kill whoever set this fucking fire,” he mumbled.

The ambulance ride was a blur, mostly due to his low oxygen levels, he assumed, because he kept coming in an out and he was confused, but he fully came to with an oxygen mask on and in a hospital bed. Ashton was asleep on the chair in the corner, still in his pajamas, with all of their things packed up in the corner, his vest neatly and properly set up. He glanced down at his chest, seeing his port was still accessed and he wondered if it was the same IV pole they rented him, the same bag they gave him at the pharmacy.

Michael still couldn’t breathe all that well, his lungs full of guck, and he wondered if he was well enough for PT and if he could ring for a nurse who would bring David or Simran up to tap on him for a while so he might cough it up. He still wanted a nurse, to ask what time it was because he didn’t know where his phone was and the clock was above his head, so he reached over and pressed the button for a nurse.

Zach came in, smiling. “Hey, Michael,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” he mumbled.

“Pain? One to ten?”

“Four,” Michael answered as Zach checked him over, grabbing the blood pressure cuff.

“Just in your lungs? No burns?”

He shook his head as Zach pumped the blood pressure cuff. “Just lung pain. Head hurts, too.”

“I think your sats might still be low,” he said, humming. “I’ll get Dr. Rodriguez in here for you, okay? She’ll decide if you need to be on the BiPAP or a ventilator.”

“Ventilator?” He groaned quietly, mindful of Ashton sleeping in the corner.

He nodded. “Until we figure out how to get all of that smoky crap out of your lungs. Or you cough it all up and it stops messing with your breathing.”

Michael pouted, because breathing wasn’t comfortable and he just wanted them to put him under until his body figured its shit out and breathing was good again.

“It’ll all be okay,” Zach said. “Want to watch some TV while I grab Rodriguez?”

Michael shrugged and Zach clicked on the TV, handing him the remote and turning the volume way down and turning closed captions on. It was on some news channel and he didn’t feel like changing it so he continued watching as they recapped sports. He blinked, thinking it would be okay to try and sleep even though he still felt a little like he couldn’t breathe, but looked back at the news.

 _Breaking news_ , it read. _There’s been a fire at the dormitory of the University of Sydney. It was caused by a lit cigarette falling into a pile of clothing, which then caught fire. The student is facing fines and potential expulsion for smoking in the dormitory and one student has been taken to hospital to be treated for smoke inhalation._

It occurred to him that _he_ was the one who was taken to hospital to be treated for smoke inhalation. He blinked and thought about how he could totally capitalize on this, call his favourite news station and give them an “exclusive” on how he had cystic fibrosis and he was on his deathbed.

It would be a lot funnier if he didn’t feel like he couldn’t breathe.

He shut his eyes and reached over to turn off the TV. He didn’t want a distraction – it was too late. He just wanted to sleep and rest and wake up with fully functioning lungs and a life that wasn’t dictated by his illness.

He wondered idly if this was the beginning of the end, the slow descent into a lack of dignity and spending too much time in the hospital. He took a breath as he wondered if the doctors were right when his parents held him in the doctor’s office as an infant, telling them that he would be lucky to see nineteen as they gave the diagnosis. He wondered if he’d have to drop out, stop dating Luke and slowly drift away from all of his friends until he was a hermit in the hospital, spending his days wondering when they would give up on trying to get his lung function to plateau.

Zach returned with Dr. Rodriguez, both of them bumbling around him and fussing with his tubes and taking his blood because the finger clip was giving a fairly low reading and they wanted to make sure it was right.

“This may have affected your overall lung function,” she warned as she prepped a needle.

He sighed quietly and pouted as much as the oxygen would let him.

“Especially because you have an infection right now, too,” she said, swiping his skin with an alcohol swab. “It may have lowered it.”

He knew it was for his own good, and that it was good she was telling him this, but he still resented it. Even so, he sat through the needle and sat through them giving him a BiPAP and nodded as they told him they’d do a lung function test once he was a bit better.

He slept for a while, waking up fully hours later to the sound of the door opening and two familiar, low voices talking. He opened his eyes slowly, breathing in time with the BiPAP and trying to listen over the noise of it.

“He’s okay?” Luke whispered to Ashton, glancing at him as Michael’s eyes fell shut again. He had no choice but to continue breathing evenly and he wondered how their conversation would be, knowing he was asleep.

“Yeah, I mean, minor smoke inhalation apparently but they think he’s doing better now,” Ashton said. “I think. I’ve been pretty asleep.”

Luke exhaled. “God, what an asshole,” he mumbled. “Smoking in the dorms.”

“I’m going to honestly kill him,” Ashton said.

Luke was quiet for far too long and Michael tried to listen over the BiPAP, tried to hear for his footsteps or feel his presence near him. “I was so fucking worried,” he mumbled.

“Hey, he’s going to be fine,” Ashton said, reassuring. “He’s young and healthy…”

“Sort of… I dunno, Ash, I just don’t want to lose him.”

He heard, barely, Ashton’s hand wrap around Luke and tug him close, mostly by the quiet “oof” Luke made.

“I think I love him,” Luke whispered. “I’ve never been in love, I don’t think. God, it’s scary…”

“Then tell him,” Ashton said, rubbing his back. “He seems pretty gone for you, too. It’s scary but it’s worth it.”

That was when Michael’s lungs decided it was time to cough. He pulled himself up from the bed, clawing the BiPAP off and trying to hack up the shit that was still sitting in his lungs. Once he was able to catch his breath, his throat raw and his chest aching, he looked at Luke and smiled a little even though he was in pain.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his mouth tasting like his nasty infection-laced mucus and smoke, still. “Hi. You’re here.”

Ashton mumbled something about getting coffee, heading to the door and leaving while Michael fumbled to turn the BiPAP off.

“Of course I’m here,” Luke said. “I was worried. I saw the fire on the news when I was studying and I freaked out.”

Michael frowned, reaching for Luke and letting him sit on the edge of the bed as he took his hands. “Were you okay?”

Luke nodded. “Just a panic attack. They didn’t let me see you, either, not until the morning.”

“Did you take your meds?” Michael asked. He’d seen Luke’s own little prescription bottles in his dorm: the daily meds and the PRNs and he hoped Luke wasn’t one of those people who downplayed the necessity of their meds.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course. How are you?”

He shrugged. “My sats were a bit low, I dunno if they still are. I’m good, though, it might lower my lung function a bit.”

Luke frowned. “Isn’t it already down from your infection?”

“A bit,” he said, trying not to lie and trying not to downplay the fact his lungs were aching and trying not to make it seem like he was dying.

Luke squeezed his hands and kissed Michael’s forehead. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

“Absolutely,” Michael said, tangling their fingers together. “Hey, I love you, yeah?”

Luke tensed, his hands turning clammy and cool in Michael’s.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked, squeezing his hand.

“Just… I’ve never been in love before,” Luke whispered. “Never… Never had someone love me. I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared,” Michael said quietly. “It’s scary but you don’t have to be scared. I just… I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and given last night, and hearing you talking to Ashton earlier, I knew I had to.”

Luke let out something between a laugh and a groan of shame. “ _No_ ,” he whined.

Michael giggled and squeezed his hands again, glad to feel that they were warmer but still fairly sweaty. “It’s okay, it made waking up a bit nicer.”

Luke looked at him, face red from embarrassment and opened his mouth to say something just as Michael started coughing once again. As always, his disease (and the factors currently exacerbating it) chose the perfect time to make itself present. He tried for a smile as he looked back at Luke, tossing the tissue he’d hacked into in the trash beside his bed.

“That’s why,” Luke said, his face still red. Michael thought his own face was probably just as red from coughing.

“What?” Michael asked, clearing his throat.

“That’s why I love you,” Luke whispered, doing his best to keep his voice even and maintain eye contact. “You always smile even when you’re in pain and you’re in the hospital and you were caught in a fire.”

Michael smiled and leaned up, kissing him quickly, acutely aware of how smoky and gross his breath must be.

Luke grinned shyly and snuggled close to him, giggling. “I’m in love with someone.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I am, too.”

As all good things do, it came to an end the minute his fleet of doctors came in with various tests and questions for him. Luke was given the boot, unfortunately, but was ultimately much calmer than when he had arrived and they’d both had a sort of Serious Chat, which was always beneficial.

His doctors took his sats, asked him a laundry list of questions, and performed a crap load of tests before they hummed and hawed. They did x-rays, CT scans and a plethora of other scans and photos of his chest before they let him get PT, which felt good. He took a nap with the BiPAP on while the doctors and lung specialists and cystic fibrosis specialists looked at the results and interpreted them into something other than medical jargon and images Michael could hardly decipher.

It was like when he found his baby book, the compilation of facts about his mum’s pregnancy and early infanthood and photos and the little cap he wore after he was cleaned off. He found a sonogram in the back, the date a few weeks before he was born, and he assumed he’d understand _where_ the baby – himself – was in the photo but it was still just a mess of black and white lines. His CTs and x-rays were the same, just messes of lines, but when his doctors pointed things out to him – that was when he thought about going to med school.

Then of course, came the knowledge that he was stuck in the hospital, and he was going to miss class.

His doctors came back in and sat down and made a big show of turning their phones off so that Michael would know that they were focussing on _him_. They would, of course, have this in one of the conference rooms in a different wing but the room would have to be deep-cleaned after he visited for infection risks.

They discussed, with him there, about different treatment courses they could take before they settled on the conclusion that they’d send him back to his dorm – or wherever the university would put him now that his dorms probably had smoke damage or something – and keep him on antibiotics and night feedings.

So he went back to classes, staying in a nearby hotel that the university paid for while they cleaned up their dorms and driving to classes while Ashton primarily took transit or walked. He didn’t feel one hundred percent, but he was confident that his doctors were right.

“You’re okay?” Luke asked as they shared short post-coital kisses in his “dorm”. “You coughed a lot.”

“Hmm,” Michael mumbled, turning his head as he coughed again. It was deep, wet. “Infection and smoke damage.”

Luke ran a hand through his hair. “I like this white,” he said quietly, referring to his newest hair colour. “Suits you.”

Michael smiled and tucked his head under Luke’s jaw. “I like you.”

Luke grinned. “But, seriously, when do you move back into your dorm? I miss your dorms.”

“They said next week,” Michael said, pulling away to cough and hacking into a tissue.

Luke kept a hand on his hip, bare and exposed to the cool air now. He kept his reassuring hand on his hip as Michael coughed until he felt dizzy but didn’t seem to clear his lungs, until he gave up and leaned back and snuggled back into Luke.

“It sounds bad,” Luke mumbled, wrapping an arm around him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It always sounds bad.”

Luke didn’t seem convinced but he pulled him closer.

There was a quick and quiet knock on the door before the handle turned and it opened, Calum appearing in shorts and he slipped in, shutting the door quietly behind him before tucking himself into the little en-suite.

“What the fuck?!” Luke asked, rushing to cover both of them with the duvet.

“Shh!” Calum said, putting a finger over his lips before starting to stage-whisper, “Ashton is chasing me because he just found out my feet are ticklish and it’s horrible.”

Michael blinked. “So you hide in your best friend’s room.”

Calum leaned down, rubbing at the brace on his leg. “It was the first open one.”

“How… How did this happen?” Luke asked, sighing and leaning into Michael as they both sat up.

“Well, see, Ashton was helping me get my brace on and it was kinda nice and intimate, y’know? Until he got to my foot and I giggled and then I hobbled away.”

Michael and Luke looked at each other, sharing a giggle while there was a knock on his door. Luke pulled on a pair of boxers and hid in the bathroom with Calum, shutting the door and Michael laid back on the bed like he’d just had some really good sex (he had, but it had occurred long enough ago that he shouldn’t be glassy-eyed and breathing deeply.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s open,” he said in a thick voice, coughing a bit.

Ashton opened the door, eyes alight in glee. “Calum here?” He asked. “Swear I saw him come in here.”

He shook his head. “Nah,” he said, sitting up and giving Ashton a blissful smile. “Saw Luke, though.”

Ashton rolled his eyes. “I regret setting you two up,” he deadpanned.

Michael chuckled and rubbed over his face. “Where’d Calum go?”

“We kinda got into a tickle fight and I was hoping for it to lead for sex but no, apparently now is a great time to exercise his broken leg,” Ashton said.

Michael laughed as he heard some shuffling in the bathroom, Ashton’s head turning towards the noise. “Is… Luke in there?” He asked.

Michael coughed. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s cleaning up. Don’t wanna make the sheets too dirty.”

Ashton scrunched up his nose. “It’s a _biohazard_.”

“I know, which is why Luke is cleaning up. Sorry Calum’s not here, though.”

Ashton eyed him. “Your door was unlocked…”

“For Luke.”

Ashton knocked on the door and Michael heard the beginnings of giggles and he coughed, trying to cover the noise. Ashton eyed him again, suspicious.

“I harbour no fugitives,” Michael said, suppressing his shit-eating grin.

“It’s not like he’s trying to kill me!” Calum said from inside the bathroom.

Ashton immediately broke out into a smile. “I fucking knew you were here.”

The bathroom door opened and Calum hobbled out, immediately snuggling into Ashton.

“Dumbass,” Ashton said lovingly, sighing. “You forgot your cane. I was worried you’d hurt yourself.”

Calum beamed and laid his head on his shoulder. “Don’t fucking tickle me or I’ll tell them what your mum used to call you when you were little.”

Ashton laid a hand on his shoulder as Luke emerged from the bathroom, rubbing over his eyes as he watched them. “Thanks for harbouring my cute-ass fugitive,” he said as they went to the door. “But we have unfinished business.”

“Bye, friends,” Luke said, going back to the bed and snuggling into Michael.

“That was nice,” Michael noted as his hands found their way into Luke’s hair.

Luke nodded. “Coming over to mine tomorrow night?”

Michael stopped for a moment, then remembered that tomorrow night was their four month mark and they planned to celebrate the occasion with pizza and Netflix and possibly sex, depending on how Michael was feeling. “Of course,” he said with a smile.

Luke smiled and kissed his chest. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think with kudos, comments, or come chat on my tumblr (mochalou)! you can also ask me any questions about the future of this fic and what will happen and i would be happy to answer them on my tumblr!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter includes the bit where I left off for a good long while before picking it back up so I definitely apologize for any oddities in style/form/etc because while I left this, I did quite a bit of other stuff and read a lot of books so there might be changes. Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

Luke eventually untangled himself from Michael and they shared a few (prolonged, borderline make-out) kisses until he left for his own dorm and Michael got to sit back and study for a while, interrupted by his cough. He went for his obligatory run, a lung clearance technique that he wished he didn’t have to do but it was something his doctor asked every single time without fail and something that made his lung function tests improve marginally.

Michael spent the next day in class, mostly outside, however, because he was coughing and he didn’t want to disturb his classmates. His illness left him in the back of the lecture hall, where the wheelchair accessible seats were situated for those unable to take the stairs, next to a girl who graciously offered to let Michael take photos of her notes and copy them down later. He spent most of the lecture in the hall, trying not to figuratively die from coughing so much, and he sat back down in his chair as the professor announced that she would end class early since the notes were so information dense and she wanted the class to have time to study.

“Here,” she said, passing him her notebook, “it’s kind of a lot. My hand hurts from writing.”

Michael glanced at her. “Thank you,” he said. “Where does it start?”

“The second page after today’s date,” she said. Michael flipped to it and got his phone camera out.

“Sorry, I’m gonna be a second,” he said as he positioned his phone above the page.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t have anywhere to be except home and this way I’ll miss the bus driver who rolls her eyes at my wheelchair.”

Michael paused and looked over. “I never noticed that,” he said with a small chuckle.

She smiled. “That’s because you’re almost always coughing,” she teased.

“Cystic fibrosis,” he explained, smiling. “I’m Michael.”

“Meixiang,” she said. “Nice to meet you and it’s good to know I’m not the only weird one here. Sometimes it feels like it.”

“That’s a gorgeous name,” he said. “And no, never worry. Just hang out at disability services sometime, you’ll probably see me there trying to get a note approved for missing a test or something.”

“That’s true, I do see a lot of other wheelchair users,” she said. “It’s just hard, you know?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. That fire in the dorms fucked like, everything up for me.”

Meixiang frowned. “Oh, right, because of your lungs?”

“Yeah,” he said, coughing and taking another photo of her notes.

“That was really scary,” she said. “The sirens woke me up but I couldn’t get out of bed to see and I had to throw socks at my roommate until she woke up. She sleeps through _anything_.”

Michael laughed, which lead to a cough. “That’s a great story.”

“It’ll be in my memoir,” she teased.

Michael finished taking photos of her notes and they left the empty lecture hall together, laughing as they went through the halls. They parted ways and Michael stopped by his dorm, a little out of breath, before he dropped off his things and went down to his car. He drove to the store, picking up a bag of crisps and a hummus dip to go along with it (because he’s _healthy_ , dammit) and a pack of gummy worms. At that rate, they’d have no room for pizza, but it didn’t even matter.

He texted Luke that he was five minutes away and when he got there and his text was unanswered, he assumed that Luke was cleaning up his dorm or flipping through Netflix for something to watch, and he let himself in. He took the elevator up one floor, since his lungs seemed to hate him today and wouldn’t let him walk very far without making him pant and making his heart beat faster.

Michael knocked on Luke’s door, the dorm at the very end of the hall away from the elevator. He heard nothing and the lights seemed to be off so he figured maybe Luke was visiting a prof on their office hours and if his door was open it would be a nice surprise for Luke when he got back. He tried the handle and it gave and he pushed the door open, finding that the blinds were closed and the curtains drawn, blocking out as much light as possible. In the light from the hall, Michael made out Luke’s form on the bed, shrinking away from the light and pulling his arm over his eyes with a small whine.

“Hey,” Michael said, his voice low. “You okay?”

Luke shook his head. “Close the door,” he mumbled.

Michael shut the door, wondering if Luke was sick and if he was contagious. He wanted to help him through it but he couldn’t risk getting sick with his current infection and the smoke damage. “What’s going on?” He asked, going over and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Migraine,” Luke whispered, keeping his arm over his eyes. Michael noticed that a plain, plastic rubbish bin sat just near his bed, a plastic bag folded into it. He realized it was in case Luke vomited.

“How can I help?” Michael asked.

“Just… be here,” Luke said.

Michael slid onto the bed and Luke shifted so his head was in Michael’s lap, taking his hand and putting it in his hair. Michael brushed through his hair, staying quiet and still except for his hand, just trying to help Luke through it.

“Pain level?” Michael asked after a while, knowing it was a dumb question and _so_ medical but he just wanted to understand.

“Seven,” Luke mumbled, pushing his face into Michael’s thigh.

“Taken your meds? Painkillers?”

“Yeah and Panadeine,” he whispered.

Michael knew the drug. He’d been on it a handful of times (mostly when he broke his wrist as a dumb thirteen year old and he couldn’t sleep) and it not only made him fall asleep within minutes but it took away the pain – or distanced him from it – perfectly well. He continued brushing his hand through Luke’s hair, staying silent and still to keep him comfortable as possible. Luke had sat at the side of his hospital bed and this was the least Michael could do for him.

After shifting a few times, Luke sat up and rubbed over his face. Michael watched him carefully, stretching his legs out. “God, I’m sorry,” Luke said. “I was hoping we could eat and watch movies but if you open those chips, I’ll vomit everywhere.”

Michael chuckled. “It’s okay,” he said. “We can just lie here.”

Luke looked at him and pouted, eyes squinting against the winter sun filtering in between the blinds.

“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s kind of intimate. I’ve never just lied in silence with someone except when they’re asleep and I’m not.”

Luke laid back carefully, snuggling into his side. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Can we have a do-over next week?” Luke asked quietly.

“Of course.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“You’re the best,” Luke whispered.

Michael smiled. “I know.”

 

A week later, Michael was the one who felt horrible. His lungs hurt and he could hardly make it to class without having a coughing fit or needing to sit down and wait a solid three minutes and twenty-seven seconds (he counted). He felt awful and he promised himself he would go to the doctor _tomorrow._ For some reason, postponing their date just felt like a bad omen of sorts and he worried that Luke would be disappointed. He convinced himself it was just a one-time thing, maybe that he didn’t sleep completely well last night and he ran out of needles for his IVs last night and couldn’t make it to the drugstore.

Michael, not for the first time, might as well have stayed home from class. He missed so much of the lesson, in the bathroom coughing and scaring people away from the urinals. At the end of class, Miaxiang handed him her notebook with a smile.

“Thanks,” he said, breathing heavily from the walk from the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” She asked as he took photos of the notes.

He nodded. “Yeah, my lungs are just… completely fucked, apparently.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “I deal with it a lot.”

“Well, I can lend you my chair and I’ll sit on your lap,” she laughed. “ _You_ can deal with the stares and glares of all the people on the bus when the driver has to lower the ramp.”

Michael chuckled. “Sure,” he said.

They left together, walking down the halls and parting ways until Miaxiang got to the bus stop and he went to his dorm. Ashton wasn’t back from class – or maybe he was studying, Michael wasn’t sure, but he sat down at his desk right after the door clicked shut behind him, trying to catch his breath. He had to pack some things and somehow manage to get his vest down to his car because Luke wanted him to stay the night and he wasn’t opposed to the idea. He didn’t feel like he was well enough for sex but he was well enough to cuddle, at least.

Michael had a few minutes so he unpacked his backpack and filled his pouch with his nighttime and morning meds, his nebulizer and inhalers and he stared at his vest with a small frown. His head ached, probably from all the coughing he’d done earlier, and he grabbed the painkillers off his desk and swallowing two dry (after taking pills for so many years, he could swallow pills without water. His current record was four small pills at once without any getting stuck in his throat).

Luke was busy for another hour and Michael had nothing to do while his boyfriend attended a study group for his math course that Michael couldn’t remember the name of. Luke waxed poetic about numbers and theories about math and Michael could only smile and nod along and think that when he took stats, he’d have it fucking _made_ for a tutor (his pay could even be in blowjobs).

He spun around on his chair, almost immediately dizzy on the first revolution and his head veritably swimming and his vision unfocused after the chair stopped spinning. He held onto his desk to regain some semblance of balance for fear that he would literally fall out of his chair. His heart pounded against his ribs and he tried to employ the deep breathing techniques that his doctors had taught him for if he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Michael regained his sense of balance and decided he might as well nap; he usually felt like shit if he hadn’t slept properly and a nap would easily kill the time between now and seeing Luke. He stood carefully, suffering from a head rush that only served to wind him more, before he lied down in his bed and quickly fell asleep.

He woke to his phone buzzing in his pocket and he pulled it out, finding that his breathing was marginally better. He clicked it on to find that the vibration that had woken him was from Luke, the second one, and he swore quietly when he looked at the time. Luke had texted, asking where he was, he was late, and a few frowny emojis, and Michael realized he _was_ late and Luke was probably anxious something happened to him.

Michael got to his feet, too fast, and the world went black.

 

Luke’s knee bounced and he worried that his downstairs neighbour would soon come up to yell at him. He worried that this was the beginning of a full on panic attack. He worried his meds weren’t in his backpack, like they always were. He worried, he worried, he worried.

He checked his phone, checking the timestamp on his last message to Michael. Twenty-three minutes ago and counting. He worried. He worried something happened. He worried Michael decided he hated him, just like Marc did, and he was going to text him later about how something “came up” and he couldn’t respond until later, when he was finished laughing with all his friends about how shitty his boyfriend was.

Fuck.

Luke strode over to his backpack, opening the pocket where he kept his anxiety meds and fumbling with the child-proof lid before he slid one out. He swallowed it with a gulp of water, sitting back at his desk and bouncing his knee, trying not to panic out of his skin and dissociate.

“He fell asleep,” Luke reasoned. With Michael’s lungs being infected, he had almost definitely lied down to have a powernap and didn’t anticipate falling deeply asleep. He repeated it to himself a few times, trying hard to make it feel true but his heart under his ribs felt more like Michael had decided it was over without telling him.

He texted Ashton after another half hour, asking if he knew where Michael was and if he was okay. His text went unanswered. He left his phone and he took a walk around campus, focusing on the smells and the sights and sounds instead of himself and his current problems. He just had to know what was wrong. And then he would be able to breathe without feeling like he was dying and worrying that the anxiety would cause a migraine.

He got back to his dorm after he bought a tea at the only open café on campus and immediately checked his phone. He had a missed call from Ashton, time-stamped for two minutes ago.

Luke clicked to call him back. “Ash? What happened? Is Michael okay?”

He could feel the hesitation in Ashton’s silence. “He’s okay,” Ashton said quietly. “I had to take him to the hospital.”

Luke shut his eyes. This was either an elaborate way to break up with him that one of his best friends was in on, or Michael wasn’t okay.

“You should come,” he said. “His parents are on their way. I don’t know what’s going on yet. But I need you and I think you need me, too.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”

He worried endlessly on the bus ride there, unable to bear listening to music to make the ride longer and every single time the bus pulled to a stop or got stuck behind a cyclist he wanted to just walk all the way to the hospital so he could justify having his heart beat this quickly.

He arrived at the hospital in due time, plunging through the front doors and the front nurse asked if he needed anything and surreptitiously slipped out a pain chart that he’d seen used on Michael a few times – and himself when he broke his wrist as a dumb seven year old. She directed him to Michael’s room and Ashton met him in a nearby waiting room, leading him to the smaller, more secluded waiting room in the cystic fibrosis ward.

It was covered in pamphlets entitled: _what_ is _cystic fibrosis?_ and other such things that he imagined heartbroken parents flipping through while waiting for news on their child. He imagined Michael’s parents being handed a few of the pamphlets when Michael was six months old and underweight and the doctors gave his parents the news about their son, that it would be a true miracle if he made it to thirty.

He sat down across from Michael’s parents, who were looking at their phones the way middle-aged people did, swiping using their index finger and squinting at their phones.

“What happened?” Luke asked, looking at them.

“Oh, he just fainted. His dorm was hot and he’d just woken up and his oxygen saturation was a bit low,” Karen explained with a shrug.

He blinked. “That isn’t bad?”

“It’s happened a few times before,” Daryl said. “In the summer, usually, when the weather is really hot. It happened in the dust storm seven years ago, too. There was some outdoor music thing at his school and he’d volunteered to help out and when he approached the headmaster, he was told he’d made a commitment and couldn’t back out so soon. He fainted and we threatened to sue him for knowing that he was sick and not letting him back out.”

Luke blinked. “So can we go see him?”

“They’re just checking on his lung function,” Karen explained. “And then doing PT. They’ll let us see him soon, though.”

Luke fell silent, taking a breath and nodding.

“You can have some time alone with him,” Daryl said. “This is probably scary for you.”

“Thank you,” Luke said. Michael’s parents were nothing but nice to him and he knew how much it meant to Michael that they got on. He knew that if Michael’s parents weren’t perturbed, then he ought not be perturbed either.

 

Michael coughed on the end of his lung function test, before he could finish it. He tucked his face into his elbow and coughed long and hard while Dr. Raymond sighed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, voice scratchy and raw.

“Maybe we should just do this later,” Dr. Raymond said lightly, “when your lungs are a bit clearer.”

“I _just_ did PT,” Michael said, adjusting the cannula in his nose. “I can do this.”

She looked at him in a way that clearly said _sure, sweetheart_ , but she set it up for him again and let him try again, and then one more time, when he did get it. “It’s a bit low,” she said quietly.

“How low?” He asked, coughing.

She sighed. “Thirty-five percent,” she said, making eye contact with him. “But you’re fighting an infection and you were caught in that fire. I’m sure your lungs will recover.”

“But you’re going to keep me,” he stated, because that was the way this sort of thing worked.

Dr. Raymond bit down on her lip. “Yes, just to make sure you’re getting the oxygen you need and don’t have another fainting spell. We’ll probably shuffle your antibiotics and get you moving around in a wheelchair.”

Michael frowned.

“You fainted today, Michael. You’re lucky you didn’t hit your head on something. You could have been seriously injured and you still have that chance.”

He sighed. “I know, I know.”

“Now get some rest, okay? I’ll get Taylor in here to give you those IVs in a few minutes.”

“Are my parents out there?”

She nodded. “And your friend who brought you here and the blond guy.”

Michael flushed a light pink. “Luke,” he said quietly. “He’s my boyfriend. Can you bring them in? I want to see them.”

“Okay,” she said with a smile. “Just remember to rest up, okay?”

He nodded and slid back onto his bed in a comfortable sitting position. Somehow, it felt like years and years until the door to his room opened and his loved ones flooded in. He reached up with one hand and adjusted his cannula with the other, letting his parents ruffle his hair and kiss his head before he motioned for Luke to come in and snuggle with him.

Luke tucked his head onto Michael’s shoulder while he had a quick visit with his parents and Ashton before his parents told him to keep them updated and he promised he would. Ashton said something about studying and quizzes before he said he’d see Michael later and ducked out.

“You okay?” Michael asked, brushing a hand through his soft, blond hair.

“It scared me,” Luke whispered. “And you didn’t answer my text and I got really worried.”

Michael rubbed his back. “I’m sorry. Are you okay now?”

Luke nodded and looked at him. “I’m better now. Now that I know you’re okay. You are okay, right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Michael said, coughing. “They’ll keep me until my lungs are better and I’m not a fainting risk everywhere I go.”

He cracked a grin and snuggled closer. “Yeah, you better not do that. It’s dangerous.”

Michael could still feel tension underneath the surface and he let it linger, trying a little to ease it off and make things more comfortable. There was just something off in Luke’s eyes, a way that his smile didn’t make it to his eyes, that made Michael sure he was either anxious or upset about something.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Michael said after a few minutes of watching an attractive young lady make a Christmas ham on the cooking channel (it wasn’t even September yet).

Luke raised his brows and looked at him. “Uh, well, it looks like Lily just made a really fancy ham?”

Michael chuckled and kissed his cheek. “No, no, about what’s going on with _you_.”

“I’m fine,” Luke said, turning back to the TV.

Michael sighed. “Please? I really don’t like the tension.”

Luke snuggled close. “I just got really scared about all this. Like, at first I thought you were running off on me and then I thought you were really bad off.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair. “You know I won’t run off on you,” he said. “And I hate to sound rude but there’s a lot of times where I end up in the hospital or I have to go to the hospital to make sure I’m not dying. It’s just… another part of CF for me.”

“It scared me that I heard it from Ash, not you. And that your lungs aren’t doing too well right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I wish I could help it.”

“I know you can’t,” Luke mumbled, kissing his cheek.

Michael shut his eyes, knowing that this all begged the question – could Luke stand the anxiety, and could Michael stand causing it? He didn’t want to ask because he didn’t want to risk the answer to the question being _no_. He didn’t want Luke’s answer to be no, or his own. He just didn’t want to lose Luke.

Sometimes his illness was really scary and seemed bigger than him. It made him _different_ in the worst way possible. It meant he might lose Luke, too. It meant he might – he _would_ , it was inevitable – lose his life.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, yeah?” Luke whispered, kissing his temple. “Shitty lungs or great lungs, I still want to be yours.”

Michael looked at him, nodding slowly. “Okay,” he whispered. “I… you don’t have to keep that, you know. If you decide you can’t keep it, it’s okay.”

Luke kissed his cheek and cuddled close, quiet.

“I’m serious,” Michael said. “I understand that it might feel like you’re abandoning me or whatever but it’s going to be really hard and difficult. Especially if I’m eligible for a transplant.”

He looked up at him, blue eyes wide. “You’re going to get a transplant?”

“Maybe,” he said, watching him. “My lungs might still get better. It’s likely they won’t, though, so… we’ll see what happens.”

Luke nodded and kissed his cheek again. “Okay. One step at a time, then, yeah?”

Michael smiled. “One step at a time.”

 

Michael spent a week in the hospital. An unbearable week where his profs were delivering great lectures and ending them off with reminders that the material they just went over will be on the exam. He prayed that his note-takers were getting everything down because exams were a month away. It was his first year. Not even completing it or getting a medical standing granted felt like failing at something so normal for people his age.

He spent the week learning how to manoeuver a wheelchair through busy hallways under the watchful eye of his nurse, popping wheelies to scare them (and himself). He spent the week hacking, getting PT, and doing insane amounts of PFTs and other lung function tests, trying to track if his lungs were getting any better.

Luke visited, and so did his parents, worrying, and Ashton visited because he borrowed Michael’s car. Michael didn’t care, just as long as Ashton paid for gas while he used it and gave it back to him with a full tank and no scratches. Even though he was happy at the hospital, with his nurses and doctors, he missed being at his dorm and listening to some fucker playing loud music or having sex instead of different alarms and he missed waking up to a couple fighting in the hall instead of his nurses taking blood and making sure he was alive. Sometimes, he just wanted to be normal.

At the end of the week, his lung function tests were not good. They let him go home after a meeting of treatment courses they could take. They could put him on a heavier antibiotic regime and hope that it cleared up the infections, or they could keep doing what they do and hope, or he could go on the transplant list.

He was given some time to think about his third option, though he did opt for a new antibiotic regime (one he hated, one that had the worst side-effects) while he thought about it. Ashton had his car, though, when he got released from the hospital, and he didn’t answer his text asking him to pick him up. He was probably in class, or studying. Michael could call his parents and go home for a while, see his dog and lie down in _his_ bed and eat a real, home-cooked meal for once, but it seemed like too much of a hassle and he’d have to wait for them to get here. He wouldn’t want to stay outside either, so he’d have to go back in and then he’d absolutely see one of his doctors who would insist he come in for a chat with the therapist.

Michael did what any rational person would do: he caught the bus. It was easy to find a spot to sit on the bus until he had to switch to get back to school and his dorm. The bus was packed, mostly full of students, both from high school and university, and Michael began to feel horrible once again. He looked for a spot, anywhere to sit where someone was maybe holding their bag on the seat next to them, to no avail.

He coughed and held on as the bus lurched forward, trying his hardest to keep his knees bent and keep his grip steady so he wouldn’t fall over. He didn’t want to pester someone for a seat, since he knew someone sitting down could be like him and have some illness that he couldn’t see. Thing was, he was so dizzy and his lungs hurt.

“Hey, babe,” a boy said loudly and Michael turned, looking at him. He slouched in a priority seat, knees spread out so wide Michael worried the girl across from him was getting an unwanted eyeful up his shorts. He had a gym bag by his feet, and a water bottle bigger than Michael’s head balanced on one of his knees with his free hand.

Michael sighed quietly and held onto the pole of the bus (germy, germy, germy).

“Yeah, babe, I’m on my way to the gym,” the boy said. He managed, somehow, to spread even wider, causing the girl next to him to shudder into the bus wall. “I’ll see you later, babe.”

Michael looked at him as he hung up, looking at the aggressive way he sat, pushing the girls around him to the side. He shuffled over at the next stop, as people filtered out through the back doors and others came in, pushing him deeper into the bus. He stood next to him and he looked up at him, baby blue eyes completely at odds with his dark eyebrows and hair in a way that Michael knew the media ate up.

“Excuse me, could I please sit there?” Michael asked, his voice scratchy and a cough bubbling up.

“Yeah? Why should I move?” He asked, looking Michael up and down with disdain.

“Because I’m really sick and I’m very dizzy,” Michael said, reaching to fiddle with his hospital bracelet. The girl next to him shifted, grabbing her bag in a manner that said she would stand – but she was stuck, boxed in by his spread knees.

“Sorry to hear that, mate,” the boy said. “Maybe next time you should get a cab.”

Michael grits his teeth and holds onto the bus pole as it slowed to a stop. “Please,” he said. “I need to sit down or I might pass out.”

The line about passing out was laying it on a little thick but it was still sort of true – his dizziness and lack of breath might catch up to him at some point and he would hate to faint on a bus.

“Uh-huh,” he said, turning back to his phone and ignoring Michael.

Michael started to think that his efforts were pointless, that he may as well just sit on the floor of the bus to avoid passing out. He thought he might be able to find his medical alert information, listing the various types of drugs he was on and that he had CF and that he had an implanted port, but he knew that it was probably buried deep in his backpack and it was pointless to show the douchebag anyway. He wouldn’t get it.

Michael sighed and held onto the bus pole, trying to let it hold all his weight, but his knees were shaking a little and his breath was coming faster.

“Give him the seat,” the girl next to him mumbled, rolling her eyes.

“He’s fine,” the boy said, eyes trained on his phone. “He’s being dramatic.”

“So? Be a good person, give him the damn seat, even if he is being dramatic.”

“God, you’re a bitch,” the boy mumbled, standing and moving down to the back of the bus.

Michael collapsed into the seat, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Took him long enough,” the girl sighed, grabbing her earbuds and sliding one back into her ear.

Michael coughed and gave her a weak smile. “Thank you,” he said between coughs.

“No problem. Just don’t pass that onto me.” She smiled.

He returned the smile and tried not to fall asleep as the ride continued. He exited at his stop and made the hike to his dorm, opening the door to his room and thinking that he was glad to be home. Even if he couldn’t quite go to class without dying, at least he was here.

He sat down at his desk and called his mum.

She answered on the second ring and Michael winced, thinking that she was at work and he had probably scared the shit out of her.

“Michael? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, mum. I’m back in my dorm.”

“You are? That’s great. When are you going back?”

Michael cleared his throat, clearing the phlegm away. “I think I’m going to St. Vincent’s next,” he said, biting down on his tongue.

“St. Vincent’s?” She asked quizzically before it dawned on her. “You’re going to St. Vincent’s?”

“I might,” he said quietly. “They… they said I’m bad enough to be considered.”

“Michael…”

He knew that this was his parents’ worst fear: his lung function declining and his health slipping away. He was their only child and he couldn’t imagine their devastation at his possible death.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“It won’t hurt to get the tests done,” he said as a way of answering her questions. It was scary to think about his lungs being torn out of his body and being replaced with someone else’s lungs but it came with the dim promise of not drowning in his own mucus.

“That’s true,” she said. Michael could feel that she was not saying he might not be eligible, which was a good and a bad thing. On one hand, he wouldn’t be subjected to the horrible side effects of a double lung transplant but on the other, he would die because of his shitty lungs.

Michael blinked and stared down at his lap.

“I never wanted it to come to this for you,” she admitted quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault. I love you. I just wish you were healthier.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

They chatted for a while until Michael hung up and decided a nap was in order. He hooked himself up to his IVs and laid down, staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on my Tumblr, which is mochalou


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so before i start there are some Issues with this chapter that must be brought up.  
> 1\. rape mention trigger warning!!! IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU THEN PLEASE DO NOT READ!!!  
> 2\. all of my info/story line about transplant is 100% lifted from Holly Rosanna's story about pre-transplant complications because it's very dramatic and very easy to make into a good story and change to fit michael's story. and also, why make things easy for him, right? All of her info can be found on [ her blog ](http://hollyrosanna.blogspot.ca)  
> thank you friends, please enjoy this chapter!!!

As expected, the side effects of his new meds were horrendous. He spent many hours in the bathroom and he felt _horrible_ for it because it was disgusting – everything that came out of him was disgusting and horrible. But he had no choice: it was either the communal bathrooms or his dorm room and he thought the bathroom was the smarter choice.

He made it to class a few times over the next few weeks but he still had note-takers just in case he left for a coughing fit in the middle of class. Michael hardly saw Luke, either, the two of them separated by exam prep and Michael’s sickness.

He got his referral tests done and waited to hear from St. Vincent about his assessment test. He did the PFTs and the sputum samples and blood samples and all different kinds of imaging tests to determine the size of his chest. Tissue typing, blood typing, infection typing, urine samples, bone density tests, liver ultrasounds.

Michael sat down after the six-minute walk, trying not to pant as his doctors and nurses jotted things down onto papers. He knew that his sats were probably low and he knew they could tell but he figured that it was okay, that the feeling of dying was probably good for his chances of being on the active transplant list.

“Okay, thank you, Michael,” Dr. Raymond said with a smile. “We’ll send all of this to St. Vincent’s and we’ll give you a call.”

Michael nodded. “Okay,” he said, standing and feeling immediately dizzy. It was from the antibiotics, he told himself, as they sometimes fucked up the inner ear and it was why his hearing was fairly shitty in his left ear.

“I’m confident we’ll hear back soon and they’ll be happy to take you.”

He smiled. “Thank you,” he said, glancing down at his phone as his doctors shuffled away.

He drove back to his dorm, having missed a full day of classes, and his assessment at St. Vincent’s would probably take three full days. He hoped they could schedule it on a weekend, but oftentimes things didn’t work out like that.

He returned to his dorm and tried the handle to no avail. Locked out. He glanced around for some sort of sign that Calum was visiting but he found none and fished his key out of his bag.

Michael stepped into the room to see Luke sitting at his desk, hunched over and peering at his phone screen with all the focus in the world. A bag sat at the end of Ashton’s bed, a sign that Calum was here, and Michael shut the door behind him, keeping it unlocked and wrapped his arms around Luke from behind.

Luke dropped his phone and touched Michael’s arms with one hand. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Michael mumbled, fumbling to take Luke’s hand. There was so much going on with his lungs and his CF that he hardly had time to just sit down and hold Luke’s hand.

“How were your tests?”

“Boring, mostly. A little painful since they had to take arterial blood.”

Luke made a face. “Gross.”

Michael nodded and snuggled into him so their cheeks were pressed together. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” Luke smiled, turning and kissing his cheek.

They moved over to the bed, turning Netflix on and watching some dumb movie while they laid together, wrapped up in each other’s arms. It was a welcome respite from the tests and the medical shit and his fucking chronic illness.

After a while Luke’s hand stilled in Michael’s hair and he shut his eyes against the movie – background noise for cuddling, really.

“Are you going to be okay?” Luke asked.

Michael nodded. “What about you?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asked, the nervousness of getting a possible lung transplant bubbling up. “If I get a transplant, it’ll be a long road to recovery.”

“Mhm,” Luke said, kissing his temple. “And I’ll be here every step of the way for you.”

Michael turned and looked at him, forcing himself to maintain eye contact even though he desperately wanted to just tuck his head into Luke’s chest and sleep. “I’m going to be in the hospital for like, a month, at least. Maybe more if something goes wrong.”

Luke nodded.

“I won’t be there for you. It’ll be horribly emotionally draining for you.”

“Stop trying to convince me to break up with you,” Luke said, pressing a kiss to his nose. “If it gets too much, I can step away for a little while. I can do what I have to do to be okay while you’re doing the same.”

Michael held his gaze before looking down at Luke’s chest, at the spots where he didn’t have a Port and where his lungs were held, healthy, in his chest.

“I love you,” Luke said.

“I love you, too.”

Michael coughed, snuggled in close to Luke and he sighed.

“Your birthday is coming up soon,” Luke said quietly. “You’ll be nineteen.”

“I’ll have made it,” he said, thinking about how he might make it to nineteen and a few months and then die from some lung transplant complication. He reminded himself that he should call his therapist to talk about the possibility of a lung transplant and the aftermath because all he could think about was the potential for dying instead of the potential to breathe without hindrance.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?”

Michael _wanted_ to go out and have a huge celebration, get drunk off his ass and dance until he coughed so hard he threw up. But he might be on the transplant list by then and he had to stay as healthy as possible if he wanted to stay on the list. And most of his antibiotics contraindicated with alcohol and he didn’t really want to die.

“Just be with you,” he said, looking at him.

Luke grinned. “Lame.”

Michael smiled. “It’s true, though.”

“But it’s lame,” Luke teased. “We should do something like, actually fun that you don’t get to do all that often. Drink, maybe? Get high?”

“Smoking anything is out for me,” Michael said with a chuckle. “And I can’t drink on Zithromax.”

“Oh. Well, what other things has your CF inhibited for you?”

“Going to concerts,” Michael said. “The screaming and the use of smoke machines…”

“Well, let’s go to a concert together. Indoor, so no one can smoke around us, and I’ll make sure it’s safe for you.”

Michael smiled a little. “Really?”

“Really.”

He cuddled into him, giving Luke a big squeeze and peppering his exposed collarbone with kisses. “Thank you,” he said. “I love you.”

 

Michael woke up to Ashton’s alarm and he groaned, rolling onto his other side away from the noise and coughing into his pillow. He had to get up, he knew, and do his vest and nebs and take his meds before he went to class. He was going to go to class today since he had a quiz and going to class was kind of like a treat. Leaving his dorm at all was a feat.

Ashton clicked his alarm off and yawned loudly. “Man, I hate waking up early.”

Michael coughed into his pillow.

Ashton stood up and padded around the room, putting on some clothes he picked off the floor and taking a water bottle from the mini-fridge. “Hey, we got mail!” Ashton said.

The RA must have distributed the mail as it came this morning and Ashton picked up the envelope.

“It’s for one Michael Clifford from St. Vincent’s Hospital,” Ashton said.

Michael sat up so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Give it to me.”

Ashton handed it to him and sat next to him as Michael opened it and pulled out the letter paper.

He scanned the letter quickly, reading too fast to comprehend but he saw “second assessment dates” followed by the date of this weekend. Two nights at St. Vincent’s, they told him, where they would reassess his lungs and his health and go over his medical history with him, nitpicking every infection and every cough.

“What does it say?” Ashton asked.

Michael beamed. “I’m getting my assessment done this weekend. And on Sunday, they’ll tell me whether or not I can get on the list.”

Ashton smiled and hugged him tight. “My best friend is getting a transplant!”

“Maybe,” Michael laughed, squeezing out of his grip. “It’s a very solid maybe at this point.”

“That’s better than what it was yesterday, though. They could have rejected your referral, right? That would have fucking sucked.”

Michael nodded and sighed. “It would have.”

Ashton beamed. “And your birthday is what, next week? So you will definitely know by then.”

“You have to go to class.”

“Yeah, but I wanna celebrate with you. This is exciting shit.”

“Get to class before you flunk out,” Michael said, chuckling and coughing.

Ashton stood as he coughed and stuffed his books into his backpack, making sure he had everything he needed before shouldering his backpack and heading out the door.

Michael did his treatments but not before he texted the letter to Luke and his parents, sharing the good news with both of them that St. Vincent’s had accepted him and soon he would learn if he were eligible for a lung transplant.

Michael shared the news with his parents and his boyfriend, all of whom congratulated him and wished him good luck on his assessment. His parents promised to bring him food while he was there – good home-cooked stuff like his mum’s coconut curry recipe and his dad’s brownies and Luke promised to be there as often as he could – what with exams being two weeks away for both of them.

The assessment was not the perfect time to study, seeing as all of the tests he’d had at his referral were repeated and he had to be introduced to each and every new nurse and doctor. It was weird having new medical professionals, but they were all lovely people and apologized with every needle prick and every time they interrupted his studying.

Michael, although willing to put up with anything for his assessment, quickly grew tired of the infinite amounts of urine samples they needed to check his kidneys were working properly. He put up with everything else, even though it tired him out.

“So, Michael, you’re still on Clarac?” Dr. Yun asked, looking down at his clipboard.

“Clarithromycin, yeah,” Michael said. Calum asked which macrolide he was on a while ago and Michael presumed it was his version of studying.

“And it was prescribed to you for atypical mycobacterium abbesses?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. He vaguely remembered when he had it; it was winter time a few years ago and he missed some school because of it. It was a particularly nasty infection he wouldn’t forget.

Dr. Yun nodded and jotted something down. “So, we’re going to take you off the Clarithromycin for now,” he said. “To determine whether or not you’re still growing that specific bacteria. The thing is, Michael, if you are, then you will not be eligible for a lung transplant.”

Michael swallowed and nodded. “Why?”

“Well, when we take your old lungs out of your chest, there is always some spillage of old bacteria or mucus into the chest cavity, which can often infect your new lungs. That’s why we put CF patients on a heavy antibiotic regime right after their transplant. However, that certain bacteria would prevent your surgical incision,” he motioned to Michael’s chest, about an inch below his nipples, “from ever fully healing. Long story short, the tissue would die, you would get septicaemia, and you would die.”

Michael nodded and looked down at his chest.

“Sometimes, antibiotics can mask the growth of a bacteria. You haven’t tested positive for it in a while but that may be because of the Clarithromycin masking its growth. So, we’re going to discontinue that and we’ll need sputum samples from you until we can determine that you no longer grow atypical mycobacterium abbesses.”

Michael nodded again, looking back up at the doctor. “How long will that take?”

He sighed. “Anywhere from one month to six months because we’ll need sputum from all different parts of your lungs. It could be in your lower lungs or your upper lungs…”

“Okay…” Michael said, thinking that it was an awful long time to wait to even get on the transplant list. He might not make it six months – not physically, but emotionally. “So, what if I no longer grow the mycobacterium?”

“Then you’ll be put on the list,” Dr. Yun said with a smile. “You’re a fairly healthy young man, except for your CF, of course, and I think you’d be a great candidate for a transplant.”

Michael smiled and he was allowed to go back to his dorm with another definite maybe. Ashton thought it was horseshit, Luke was sympathetic and his parents told him he would be okay and to focus on studying now. They sent him home with sample cups, which he had been doing for almost as long as he could remember, and he promised to send them back to them.

Ashton thought it was horrible in the mornings when Michael laid there and hacked and caught the mucus in the little sample cup but he survived, even though he nearly snapped because Michael took samples when Ashton tried to study a few times.

Due to the nature of his lung issues, Michael was given a separate room in which to write his exams so he could cough without disturbing others and he could have extra time allotted to account for his coughing. He wrote his exams and thought he might get a solid D grade on all of them, a pass at the very least.

On the day of his last exam, he began to pack to get ready to go home. It was nice knowing he completed his first year but it was sad knowing that he was leaving to go back home to his boring home life three hours away. He was going to miss Ashton and Calum and their ridiculous couple antics and Ashton fussing over Calum’s bad leg. He was going to miss being a few minutes away from Luke instead of a few hours – Luke lived in the city and Michael lived out in the suburbs.

He didn’t have to move out for another week, really, but his parents wanted him home and he couldn’t quite blame them. He just didn’t want to be so far away from St. Vincent’s.

Michael sat around, surrounded by his boxes and his bags of things, waiting for his parents to text him that they were outside and he should let them in. He waited for Ashton to get back to say goodbye, or at least tell him that they would see each other soon. He had deferred the next semester, just in case he got on the list and he got his call, and the spring semester was a hard maybe, depending on if/when he got on the list and if/when he got his call.

Ashton came in, sighing and Michael looked up.

“How was your exam?” Michael asked.

“ _God_ , Earth science is boring as hell,” Ashton said. “So unnecessarily complicated.”

Michael chuckled and coughed. “Yeah.”

“Are you moving out?” Ashton asked, frowning at the boxes.

Michael nodded. “I’m done, so… my parents want me home.”

“Oh my God, do I get to meet your parents?” Ashton asked excitedly, instead of worrying about saying goodbye.

Michael laughed. “Yeah,” he said. He realized that he was so thankful for Ashton, for everything about him. For the times he drove him to the hospital, the times he rubbed his back in the middle of the night while Michael coughed and gagged into a trash can, for setting him up with Luke.

“I’m so excited, they sound great.”

“They’re really just normal people who have a very great understanding in cystic fibrosis and its treatment.”

“Yeah, but they created you, so they’re nice.”

Michael smiled. “Thank you,” he said, honestly.

“Uh-huh,” Ashton grinned, sitting down. “I’m so going to come visit you all the time at home. And you can come to mine and meet my little sibs.”

“Sibs?” Michael asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, my brother and sister. They’ll love you. Although, they are fairly germy and you’ve got like, one foot in the grave already, so I don’t know how that will work.”

Michael laughed. “Ash, thank you,” he said.

Ashton smiled. “For what?”

“For being the best roommate ever, honestly,” he said.

Ashton smiled and Michael stood, wrapping his arms around him, germs be damned. If he had mycobacterium, he had it and he would come back in the spring and he would try his hardest to get himself a degree before he bit the dust.

“We better be roomies next semester,” Ashton said.

“I… I’m not coming back next semester. Lung transplant stuff.”

Ashton tightened his grip on him. “Then I will visit you every week when you’re in hospital and I will bring you my homework to do.”

Michael laughed and pulled away when his phone buzzed. “Thank you.”

His parents came up and Ashton, with his beautifully large biceps, helped them carry the things down to the car. Michael got piled back into the sedan, sitting in the back, and he watched his university fade into the distance.

The thing was, Ashton treated him like he was completely normal. He treated him like he had a chronic illness, but only at the times that it was unavoidable. He felt like a normal person around Ashton and he was going to miss it so much. He was going to miss Ashton being around all the time.

“You okay?” Karen asked from the front.

“Mhm,” Michael said, leaning his head against the window, the vibration from the car similar to his vest.

“We’re excited to have you home,” Daryl said. “And have your boyfriend around all the time.”

Michael chuckled, thinking he could fall asleep on the drive home. “I’ll like that, too,” he said quietly. At least school wouldn’t inhibit them from seeing each other most often and maybe Michael could stay at Luke’s for a while when they did assessments.

He did manage to fall asleep on the way home, curled up in the back like he did so many times from the way home from clinic or the hospital. His parents roused him when they got home, unable to carry him inside like they did when he was a little kid.

Michael rubbed at his eyes and yawned as he climbed out of the car. He wondered if his parents would bring everything in while he went inside and slid into bed to sleep for thirteen whole hours. He padded inside, grabbing what he could carry and what his parents would allow him to carry, and went to his bedroom, to his bed, and opened the door.

Sitting on his bed was Luke, sat against the wall and peering at his phone with the lights off – he assumed so that Michael wouldn’t guess that someone was in the house when he got out of the car.

“What the fuck,” he said, dropping his backpack.

Luke looked up at him and beamed. “Hello,” he said. “I was wondering when you would come home.”

Michael went over and wrapped his arms around him, making Luke drop his phone and laugh as he pulled him in closer.

“Your parents told me to come here so I could surprise you because they knew you would be sad about leaving the dorms and Ash so I came for a sleepover,” Luke grinned.

“I love you and I love my parents,” he mumbled into Luke’s chest.

Luke smiled and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

“You better just be here for a _sleep_ over because I woke up at ass o’clock this morning and my infection is kicking me in the ass.”

“You have to hook up your NG tube and do your vest first,” Luke said, brushing a hand through his hair.

Michael groaned. “I don’t want to.”

“But look at your cheeks,” Luke said. “They’re only squishy like that because you’ve been doing your night feedings.”

“Fine,” Michael said. “But you have to help me access my port.”

Luke wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nope, you can do that while I brush my teeth or something.”

Michael laughed and kissed his cheek, getting his vest and laying with Luke while it shook his lungs and hopefully dislodged all the mucus. They watched some Netflix original show with the captions on and they brushed their teeth side by side when Michael was done his vest. Luke went to Michael’s room while Michael accessed his port and got his IVs set up for the night. He put his NG tube in, fighting back a gag, before he went to his room and got attached to all his different tubes.

Luke, already dressed in his pajama shorts, snuggled into his hip while Michael attached the various tubes to their ends. It made sleeping a little more uncomfortable but it was for the best, he knew.

“I love you,” Luke mumbled as Michael shifted down and snuggled into his grip.

“I love you, too,” Michael said.

Luke fell asleep after a few minutes, their arms still entwined and Michael glanced over, watching him sleep and smiling to himself before he let himself drift off as well.

 

Michael woke up on the morning of his nineteenth birthday and rolled away from the sun coming in through his window. He pushed his face into the pillow and coughed as his phone buzzed. He grabbed it and pulled it in to his chest to turn it on and look at who texted him.

Ashton had texted him, wishing him a happy birthday and telling him that he would see him later. Luke had organized his birthday party, promised it would be small, just the four of them and maybe some of Ashton and Michael’s friends from USyd. Michael smiled at his phone, texted him a quick thank you before he sat up.

He had to do his vest and take his various tubes out. He had to check the mail for a letter from St. Vincent’s and he wanted to call them and ask if they had any news for him yet but he knew that it took time to see if bacteria grew in sputum samples.

Michael went downstairs after doing his treatments and walked right into his mum’s open arms, giving her a big squeeze.

“Happy birthday, love,” she said as she squeezed him back just as hard.

“Thanks, mum,” he said.

His parents made a fuss about his birthday every year, excited that he had made it another year, and this year in particular was special. He was in the middle of his assessment for a double lung transplant and his life was on the fence, at a crossroads, and his parents just wanted him to be okay and healthy.

His parents let him eat cake in the morning and made him waffles and bacon and had fresh mangoes for him as well. It was the perfect morning and by the time he was ready for Luke to pick him up, he thought that the day couldn’t get any better, but it could.

Michael’s birthday party was low-key like Luke promised but they went out and no one encouraged him to drink but they went to a nice restaurant and walked along the beach and then they got ice cream, all together and all while having a good time. Calum found the beach difficult with his leg still healing but Ashton helped him through it with a piggy back down the sand.

Michael sat down on one of the “driftwood” logs on the beach, placed there for convenient sitting, and he sat thigh-to-thigh with Luke, digging into his ice cream with the tiny plastic spoon he was given at the shop.

Ashton and Calum played chicken with the beach with Calum on Ashton’s back, being threatened with falling into the water every few seconds and letting out some giggles and shrieks. Luke smiled and leaned his head onto Michael’s shoulder, holding his cone with a napkin and taking a small bite out of the waffle cone.

“They’ve been like that forever,” Luke said. “Playing with each other like that.”

Michael smiled. “They’re perfect for each other.”

Luke nodded and looked at him, taking a big lick of his vanilla ice cream. “Yeah. It was good they set us up.”

“It was. I met the best guy I’ve ever dated.”

Luke laughed. “You’re such a corny asshole.”

Michael kissed his cheek and then realized he had smeared chocolate ice cream on his skin. He reached up with his sleeve, perennially cold even though summer was creeping up, and wiped away the chocolate. Luke leaned in and kissed him and Michael giggled, smiling almost too wide to kiss him back properly.

The thought of going home and having to do his treatments before bed, without Luke, made him wish he could just sit on the beach and lay down and fall asleep by the water. He wished they could set up a tent and just stay here and be together. But camping at all was impossible for him – he required electricity to do so many treatments and he required handwashing more often than camping allowed.

Luke pulled away and laughed because his ice cream melted down onto his hand. He licked at it and kept his eyes on Michael as he did it, turning something so innocent into something suggestive.

Michael laughed. “That’s why you get a bowl, you dork.”

Luke giggled and watched him. “That didn’t turn you on?”

“No, but it was kinda hot.”

“Let me take you home,” Luke said.

Michael smiled and took a spoonful of his ice cream. “Let me finish enjoying my birthday party.”

Luke giggled and licked at his ice cream. “Finally nineteen.”

“Yeah.”

Luke smiled and they finished their ice cream together on the beach, watching the waves and watching the stars. They sat together, the four of them, and spent a happy evening together.

 

Michael woke up late in the morning, closer to lunch than breakfast, and he sighed against the heat in his bedroom from the sun filtering in. He thought of getting up but he knew that first he had to clear out his lungs before he could get up and face the day.

It wasn’t like he had much to face, though. Christmas was approaching and Luke was busy with work – a summer job to rake in the cash before he went back to school. Ashton and Calum went on a vacation to New Zealand with Calum’s family and Michael was… Well, he was certainly living a full life staying at home and catching up on the video games he’d missed during school and spending too much time being at home.

He also waited on news from St. Vincent’s as it had been two months since they’d began the assessment and it was technically still ongoing. He’d gone to his regular clinic more often than usual due to his lungs sucking and he had remained about the same, shitty but not so shitty that St. Vincent’s was probably rushing on his stuff. He reminded himself every day that it took time to get bacterial cultures in sputum samples and that it was all tainted with mouth-bacteria and it _took time_.

Michael finished his treatments with what he thought was probably record-breaking amounts of coughing; all they had to do now was call Guinness. He got up, grabbing his phone from where he let it charge by his desk overnight (it especially worked when he had an alarm because if it wasn’t right beside him he had to get up to turn it off and by the time he was up he had already done the hardest thing). He brought it with him downstairs, still in his soft cotton shorts and a thrift-store shirt initially meant for exercising but traded for sleeping.

His parents were both at work and he started himself a cup of tea to start with. He put a piece of bread in the toaster and hunted for the vegemite, which he found was half-empty and he cursed the fact that they were running out. While his tea steeped and his bread toasted, he checked on the mail and found nothing but bills for his parents and flyers advertising sales at a nearby grocery store. Nothing from St. Vincent’s and nothing from Sydney Children’s.

Michael sighed and went back to the kitchen rescuing his toast from the toaster and spreading vegemite on it before settling at the kitchen table with his food. He turned on his phone and opened his texts – because he had plenty, apparently.

_Luke_  
9:45AM  
is it ok if I pop over after class? Wanna see you

Michael scrolled through the other texts from his parents, telling him to have a good day and remember to take his meds and tapped out quick replies to them. He switched back to Luke’s text, nearly two hours old, and told him to come over whenever it was convenient for him. Luke’s work wasn’t quite three hours away, but it was still fairly far away and Michael wondered if Luke had gotten off work by this point, worked some awful early shift and got off a while ago.

He made his toast, drank his tea and had a nice relaxing morning scrolling through Instagram and Facebook. By the time he finally got up off his ass to clear his dishes, Luke hadn’t responded and Michael figured he was still at work or maybe he had gone home and took a nap and Michael didn’t blame him for either.

He figured he had time to attempt _Dark Souls_ before Luke got home and he grabbed his laptop, settling into the loveseat with it like he had quite a few times before, and turned it on. As he did, someone knocked on the door.

He stood and went to the door, figuring it was some sort of delivery for his parents, and he opened the door to see Luke. He still had his “uniform” on, which consisted of pants he could comfortably work in and a blue shirt with the daycare’s logo and name printed on the back so that children could easily identify those they could go to for help. He wore a vague, half-forced smile.

“Hey,” Michael said. “How was work?”

Luke sighed. “Work,” he said, dropping the smile. “The kids were good.”

Michael let him in and Luke immediately went to the bathroom to thoroughly wash his hands; the problem with children was their lack of hygiene and with Michael’s lung issues, it was a bad idea for anyone to let those germs run rampant around him.

Michael followed him, leaning against the wall across from the bathroom. “What’s going on?”

“I just… saw someone from my past,” Luke mumbled. “Not even at the daycare but when I went to get lunch.”

Michael watched him dry his hands on a clean towel and avoid Michael’s eyes. He wondered if the person from his past was someone Luke was interested in, someone that Luke wanted more than Michael. He wondered if the person was someone who incited migraines.

Luke sighed and looked at him. “Have anything I can change into so we can lie down?” He asked.

Michael nodded, worrying too much about the prospect of being broken up with, and got him a change of clothes. Luke changed silently and Michael sat on his bed, watching him. Luke lied down, putting his head in Michael’s lap and tentatively, Michael reached down and brushed through it.

“I can feel a migraine coming on,” Luke mumbled.

“You’ve got some of your meds here if you want to try to get ahead,” Michael reminded him, glancing at the IV poles and thinking that he could probably fashion some sort of IV for Luke if he needed immediate relief. He’d seen it done enough times.

“Mhm…” Luke said and Michael’s chest felt tight in a way that was not CF related.

Michael let them sit in silence for a while, coaxing Luke to drink some water every now and then and brushing at his hair. He made Luke take his meds after a while and then tried to get the room as dark as possible and he hoped Luke would fall asleep and wake up sans-migraine.

“I ran into a girl I went to high school with,” Luke mumbled after a while when Michael was just getting used to the silence. He nearly flinched but he glanced down at Luke’s head in his lap.

“Oh.”

“Her name is Christina. We met in math class and we became friends and she had a crush on me. I told her I was gay, because I am, and it was a good friendship, even though she had a giant crush on me. She invited me to a party.”

Michael bit down on his lip as he listened, guessing that this was the part of Luke’s past that he told Michael had a time and a place. He guessed that now was the time and the place.

“She let me drink. And she told me to try this, taste that, and wasn’t this one mixer so sweet? She told me she would drive me home, that I could get as drunk as I wanted, that I could trust her.”

Michael brushed through Luke’s hair as he whispered out the story, trying to soothe the pain in his head as well as in his heart.

“At one point, I felt sleepy and I felt drunk and I wanted to go home,” he says. “But she said she didn’t want me to puke in her car so I could go and sleep it off for a little while. She gave me some water that she’d been drinking out of all night and the last thing I remember is drinking the water and climbing into someone else’s bed.”

Michael’s hand tightened in his hair, trying not to pull on his hair.

“I woke up naked.”

Michael bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from ripping Luke’s hair out.

“I stayed quiet about it for a long, long time. It triggered my anxiety a lot and you know about that already. When I came forward in year twelve and spoke to school administration and law enforcement they told me that no witnesses, no one to corroborate my story meant no case. Christina was a good student: Dean’s list, good GPA, solid volunteer hours, played on volleyball teams… I had a bad track record of skipping class, taking a leave of absence due to mental health. They never said it directly but they implied that I had made the whole thing up.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered.

Luke shook his head and snuggled in closer. “It’s in the past now. I got a lot of counselling and therapy for it but… I thought you should know.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see her.”

“It was really just a nuisance.”

“I know,” Michael sighed. “But… still. Haven’t had an easy time, have you?”

Luke chuckled and then stopped, wincing. “Guess I haven’t. You’re easy, though. Easy to love and easy to feel secure and happy and easy to just… sit with you and tell you things. It’s never been easy to tell that story but it was a little bit easier with you.”

“God, stop that,” Michael intoned, mostly joking, but his chest hurt in a non-CF way once again and he didn’t want to think too hard about his story or he worried he might cry. He didn’t want to make this about him by crying.

“Shut up, I love you,” Luke said, looking up at him with his wide, beautiful blue eyes.

“I love you more,” Michael said, brushing through his hair to make Luke close his eyes and push into the sensation. “Thank you for telling me about it.”

“You told me all about your lungs so, it’s only fair.”

“Those are _not_ comparable. Christ, Luke, my lungs and you being raped aren’t even in the same arena of bad shit that happens to people.”

Luke snuggled close. “I know. But we both have shitty things that happen to us, I guess. You have lungs that don’t cooperate and I get migraines and panic attacks.”

Michael sighed and pressed a kiss to his head, turning away to cough.

Luke’s hand found his thigh, a light, intimate touch. “What matters is that you’re here with me,” Luke whispered. “Comforting me through a migraine and staying even though I told you about getting raped by someone I thought was a friend. And I’m here with you, waiting for the hospital to get back to you about your lungs.”

Michael smiled and reached to lace their fingers together. “What matters is that we’re together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on [ my tumblr!](mochalou.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another brief hiatus as i focused on things other than this fic... woops! but i mean, school also got to me and my work has been working the crap out of me BUT today is the end of the fall semester! happy end of semester for anyone else out there, please enjoy this!

Christmas came with a sudden flurry of gift-buying and making preparations for various things. He went to a Christmas Eve church service with Luke and his family, despite his lack of religion and the fact he coughed enough to warrant a few glares from people. One lady, after the service when Luke’s parents got caught up in a conversation with another family, came over and asked about his cough.

“Sounds almost like a smoker’s cough,” she said.

“Not a smoker’s cough,” Michael smiled. “Just a chronic lung illness. Cystic fibrosis.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about that before. God bless you, son, and your lungs.”

Michael thanked her and returned the sentiment and thought about St. Vincent’s. He thought about his letter and his assessment and how much he wanted to know.

On Christmas, Luke was lucky to visit his grandparents, who lived a few blocks over from Michael, and he got the chance to see him and exchange gifts. They got each other music and Luke bought Michael some fluffy pajamas and slippers, “for when you’re in the hospital,” he explained with a bright grin.

Christmas passed and as January rolled around, Michael heard far more whining about the school year approaching than he wanted to hear. Luke’s mum, a teacher, said she dreaded going back to work and asked Michael about his major, his studies, his future career path. Luke, Calum and Ashton all sighed at any mention of the summer coming to a close (though Michael couldn’t wait for colder weather because _sweaters_ ).

One evening, sitting out on a patio in Sydney, Ashton sighed, “I’m going to have to get used to a new roommate this term, too,” he said with a beer in his hand.

Michael couldn’t help the pang of jealousy in his chest at that – he couldn’t drink and he couldn’t go back to school because his lungs were trying to kill him and goddammit if he was going to die before he was twenty.

Calum’s birthday approached and they made plans to have the summer go out with a bang (initially Calum suggested going to a club but Luke shot that down because it was too many people and it would inevitably kill Michael). Michael worried he was holding the group back but everyone promised it was fine, it would be better than going to a club because clubs weren’t even fun.

A few days before Calum’s birthday, Michael woke up to his phone ringing on his bedside table and he reached over.

“’Lo?” He asked, the phlegm in his throat silencing the first part of the word. He cleared it and worried he was scaring whatever telemarketer on the other end.

“Good morning, Mr. Clifford,” Dr. Yun said.

Michael sat up, making his head spin and he immediately coughed again to clear his throat. “Dr. Yun?”

“Yes, Michael,” he said, a smile evident in his voice. “So, I have good news and bad news for you.”

“Bad news first,” Michael requested.

“Well, I actually have to tell you the good news first. The good news: mycobacterium never grew in your sputum samples.”

Michael let his breath out.

“Bad news: your samples grew pseudomonas.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I know I have it. I’m on treatment for it.”

“Yes, well, it showed up despite you being on treatment for it… It’s a particularly strong strain. And when the transplant occurs, no matter how careful the surgeons are, some bacteria spills out of the old lungs and can potentially re-infect the new lungs.”

Michael bit down on his lip hard and tried not to think about how it sounded like he would never get a transplant.

“So I wanted to let you know that you’re free of mycobacterium but this is just another hurdle we have to get over. We can’t risk damaging the shiny new lungs when you’ve got them so we have to find a way, and a cocktail of antibiotics, that will effectively kill the pseudomonas as soon as you get new lungs.”

Michael nodded and looked down at his lap.

“This shouldn’t take too long,” Dr. Yun promised. “I know it’s hard facing this again and again and getting rejected over and over. But we will definitely find a mixture of antibiotics that will blast the pseudomonas away and this will take… a month, tops.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “Thank you for calling me.”

So Michael was condemned to waiting again, but at least some news was better than no news, he guessed.

It took another month for them to get back to him. When they did, Michael was in the middle of a boss fight and nearly ignored the call. But they found two ways to treat and kill the pseudomonas and Michael was given a second assessment date, two weeks from the date they called him. They would measure his rate of decline and they would see if he were still physically strong enough to get a transplant.

Michael sat on Luke’s bed, watching Luke button up a flannel and check his face in the mirror. “Do you think I should shave?”

Michael shrugged, glancing down at his phone. “Depends if you want to shave before we go or not.”

“But do you think I should?” Luke asked.

Michael smiled and watched him. “I love you with a little scruff.”

“You don’t love me all the time?” Luke pouted, giggling.

“Of course not,” Michael teased.

Michael tried not to think about how he was going to get an assessment this weekend, about how he would finally learn, after almost six months, if he were able to get a lung transplant.

Luke smiled and kissed his cheek, adjusting his brow piercing gently and Michael beamed. “I’m bringing a coat.”

Luke laughed quietly. “It’s so hot out, though,” he said.

“No it’s not!” Michael laughed. “There’s a cool breeze out there and I can’t get sick. And what if the theatre has air conditioning?”

One of the old theatres nearby was showing _Indiana Jones_ and Luke was appalled that Michael had never seen it, so he splurged on some tickets and it was their date night. Besides, Luke said, that theatre was the same place everyone went on at least one tacky date and then crossed the street to get old-fashioned burgers and ice cream.

“Well, then, I guess you should bring a coat,” Luke smiled. “Ice cream might make you cold too.”

(Michael guessed maybe he found it cold since he was technically underweight for someone his age and his height but he decided he might as well not bring that up.)

They left together, taking Michael’s car and parking at the theatre. The theatre, unlike Michael predicted, was warm and after a few minutes of sitting in their seats, Michael tried to find a place to store his coat for the duration of the show.

“They have a coat check,” Luke said, taking the coat from him.

“I don’t have any cash,” Michael pouted.

“I do,” Luke said, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be right back. Save my seat.”

Luke returned minutes later with the ticket stub for the coat check, showing it to Michael before pushing it into his jeans pocket. They watched the film together, inhibited from any PDA by the immovable armrest between them that prevented any solid hand-holding or thigh-touching, but Michael enjoyed the movie as he expected he would. It wasn’t _Star Wars_ but it was a good film and Michael had a bit of a thing for Harrison Ford.

After the show, they walked across the street to the ice cream and burgers place, sitting in a booth together and discussing the movie (and how Harrison Ford’s thighs made them both want to cry). They shared a sundae and Michael had a few fries but he didn’t finish much of anything and he felt bad because Luke paid for so much of it.

“The perk,” Luke said, grabbing a fry and swiping it through the ice cream, “of working over the summer is then having money to spend in the fall.”

Michael laughed and dipped his spoon into the melted part at the bottom – where the fudge and the ice cream had become one. “Yeah, well, I don’t have to go to school,” he said.

“I know,” Luke pouted. “I miss you being so close.”

“Well, St. Vincent’s is pretty close,” Michael said with a smile. “So this weekend I’ll be close. And I have clinic next week so I can come visit you then.”

Luke smiled. “I know, but it’s not the same as you being within walking distance at all times.”

Michael laughed. “We were _not_ within walking distance. That’s like, a twenty-minute drive.”

“I know, but it’s the point that counts.”

They finished their ice cream and Luke paid before he suggested they go home. Unfortunately, it would mean that they would part ways, but Michael couldn’t tote his things around all the time and Luke had a study group the next day, earlier than Michael wanted to be awake.

Michael reached the front door, Luke nudging the disabled button and Michael frowned at the rain as they stepped outside.

“Oh, shit, we didn’t get my coat,” Michael said, looking at Luke.

“Shit,” Luke mumbled. “Well, the theatre’s still open. We can go get it now.”

Michael stayed firmly parked under the awning. “Could you go get it?”

“You have the ticket,” Luke said.

“No, I don’t, you paid for the coat check. They gave you the ticket.”

Luke sighed and grabbed his wallet, checking in it for the ticket. “I don’t have it,” he said.

“Neither do I,” Michael said impatiently, aware that one of the couples that just passed them gave them a quick look.

“You could at least check. I remember giving it to you.”

Michael rolled his eyes and grabbed everything out of his pockets. His phone, his wallet, an alcohol swab and a few old various prescriptions he’d filled. He put the miscellaneous items back and checked his wallet, finding just his health card, his debit card, his student ID and everything except a ticket for the coat check, even when he looked in the little hidden part.

“It’s not here,” he said, looking at Luke.

“Then I don’t know where it is,” Luke said, sighing.

Michael looked out at the rain. “Can you check your pockets?”

“It isn’t there,” Luke said, voice rife with impatience. “I gave it to you.”

“Then where the hell is it, Luke?”

“I don’t know! God, let’s just go see if they’ll give it to us. I’m sure it’s the same kid, he’ll recognise me.”

“He needs the fucking number for it,” Michael said, gritting his teeth. “Fucking hell. I need my coat. It’s raining, for fuck sake!”

Luke looked at him, sighing.

“If I get sick, I might fucking die,” Michael snapped.

“It was an accident!” Luke said. “I didn’t _mean_ to lose the coat check ticket.”

“You haven’t checked your pockets yet!”

“Because I know I didn’t put it there,” he said impatiently.

“Whatever,” Michael sighed. “I’m going home.”

He turned and walked through the rain to his car, leaving Luke behind under the awning and he drove home, turning the radio up loud so he couldn’t hear his phone buzz or jingle in the backseat where he tossed it when he got in. He got home and went inside, his hair still damp from the rain and annoyance still sitting in his chest.

It wasn’t that it was his favourite coat but it was Luke’s stubbornness that really got him. It was that Luke didn’t even exhaust all possible options before he gave up and blamed it on Michael. It was a stupid, annoying spat and Michael rubbed over his face before he walked inside, remembering to rescue his phone lest it get his car stolen, or something.

Karen looked up from the news, smiling. “Hey,” she said. “How was your date?”

Michael sighed and sat down in the armchair. He was exhausted and he thought of nothing nicer than taking a quick shower before settling down to bed (of course, his fantasy excluded doing his vest or his night feeding).

She frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Luke lost my coat,” he muttered. “He checked my coat and lost the ticket for it.”

She opened her arms and Michael slinked over, snuggling into her embrace.

“One time, I yelled at your dad because he bought a toothbrush the same colour as mine and then I couldn’t tell them apart,” she said. “Stupid fights happen and then you acknowledge they were stupid, you apologize, and years later you laugh about it.”

Michael looked at her. “I just can’t risk my health.”

“I know, baby, but he didn’t do it on purpose. I’ll buy you a new coat if you need one.”

“It’s not that. He was just being stubborn and it made me mad.”

“Of course, love.”

He leaned his head on her shoulder and thought that it would be so easy to simply fall asleep right here, cuddled up with his mum and forgetting about his stupid idiot boyfriend. But it would also mean forgetting about his treatments and he couldn’t get his night feeding done if he fell asleep right now.

Karen brushed a hand through his hair. “Go do your stuff and get some rest.”

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He trudged upstairs, doing his various treatments before settling down to bed with his night feeding and IVs already pumping him full of things.

He dozed until he effectively passed the hell out, starfish-style on his bed with enough tubes in him to make him wake up a few hours later, thinking he was in the hospital and expecting to see a nurse. The image he saw, however, confused his tired brain and he blinked a few times to make sure that he was seeing everything right – his posters on his wall and his sheets on his bed and his boyfriend standing sheepishly in the doorway, his coat folded over his arm.

“Luke?” He mumbled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

“Hi,” Luke said, the dark circles under his eyes amplified in his darkened room. “I got your coat.”

Michael felt the sting of embarrassment – like the time he was in the hospital and spent the evening thinking he’d contracted norovirus but was then reminded he’d forgotten to take his enzymes. “Thank you. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Luke shrugged. “The ticket was in my jeans pocket.”

Michael stifled a chuckle. “I told you so,” he whispered, looking at him and Luke cracked a smile as well.

He shuffled over and sat on the bed. “I’m sorry I was so stubborn.”

“It’s okay… Did my parents actually let you in this late?”

Luke nodded. “Your dad is still up and he told me I’d better go and turn your frown upside down.”

Michael couldn’t stifle his laugh this time. “Well, you’ve succeeded. How’d you get here?”

“Mum let me take her car,” he said.

“You drove three hours to bring me my coat?”

Luke shrugged, bashful, and looked down at his lap. “It was more like two because there’s no traffic.”

“There _will_ be traffic tomorrow when you’re trying to get to your study group,” Michael said.

“It’s okay, Haley cancelled it,” Luke said.

Michael reached over and took his hand, sweaty, like he was nervous. “Come lie down with me.”

Luke shifted over and awkwardly sat hip-to-hip with Michael.

“Get comfortable,” Michael whined and Luke sighed and leaned into him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just anxious.”

Michael brushed a hand through his hair. “Just sleep here with me. Please?”

Luke snuggled into him. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Me, too. But it’s okay. Everyone has a little fight once in a while and we’ve apologized so it’s okay.”

Luke looked up and Michael took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

 

Michael spent the weekend in hospital, performing various tests for them and moving around in a wheelchair. His doctors discovered the reason behind his lethargy – low blood oxygen – and got him on oxygen therapy, which made him feel a lot more like he was dying but it also made him feel less like he was dying. The subtle difference between mental and physical differences, he guessed.

But his assessment went well, the nurses promised him. If he were to gain some weight and stay religiously doing his IVs and night feedings, he would be good to go for a transplant. Joanne promised him she would see him back soon while his doctors said that he was probably good to go for a transplant but they needed him to gain weight and muscle tone. They told him to visit his physio more often, get healthier (if he could) and continue with everything.

They gave him no final answer but said that most likely he would be put on the active waiting list soon.

He went home a free case, but his name was not on the active waiting list and he went home grasping onto the ends of positivity and falling into a spiral of thinking that it would just never happen to him. His parents worst fear would come true: he would become Holly.

Michael vented all of this to Luke over Skype, too far away to drive when he was this upset and it was late at night and he was tired. Luke did the best he could: he listened and offered support. He got Michael to go the fuck to sleep so he could maybe try positivity in the morning and see if it fit.

He went to therapy for the first time in a long time and he visited physio a lot more often. He tried to fit in exercise whenever he could but by the time he tried to get out for a walk, he was usually falling asleep on the couch and he generally needed his oxygen to get around for a walk. Stairs were difficult – even the one level in his house winded him – and most difficult was getting by on his own. Exhaustion hid behind every inane task he took for granted and he wished for healthy lungs.

Finally, a call came and told him that he was now officially on the active waiting list for a double lung transplant.

The first day, Michael sat for what felt like an hour (in reality, it was ten minutes) and stared at his phone, willing it to ring. The wait times were horribly varied and depended upon someone with good lungs, who was an organ donor, dying in such a way that it did not ruin their lungs and being in hospital so the lungs wouldn’t waste away or something horrible like that.

It was the second step in a long, long line, but he was at least in the line at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on [ my tumblr!](mochalou.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, oops? again? i'm not cut out for this whole updating-as-you-go thang. i lost a lot of inspiration for a long time (school and work happened) and a lot of things in my personal life had to be sorted out before i could even think about writing something that wasn't angsty af. and writing this just didn't fit in with what i needed to write. i'm sorry, i should have updated and i should have at least posted something.
> 
> but here you go, after much ado, a new chapter!

Luke organized a party for the four of them – Calum and Ashton had a free weekend – to celebrate the fact that Michael was (probably) going to get new lungs. They met at Luke’s house and snuggled into the basement, packed with crisps and beer (and plenty of non-alcoholic drinks for Michael).

“Wait, doesn’t Hospira cause hearing loss?” Calum asked, looking quizzically at Michael while Luke tried to explain what he called easy math to Ashton.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “In like, eleven percent of people. They try to keep me off it so I’m not on it for so long that it really gets to me, but I mean, it happens. It usually just makes me dizzy but my doctors say that’s the first step towards hearing loss.”

Calum nodded. “And you take it for what?” He asked, trying to soak up information about lungs and lung infections from Michael. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed talking and educating about it and Calum enjoyed learning.

“Pseudomonas,” Michael said. “A special, nasty kind of lung infection almost everyone with CF gets at some point.”

“No, no, Ash, it’s really simple, just listen,” Luke said from beside Michael, leaning over to point at something he’d drawn on an old envelope.

Michael and Calum shared a glance and snickered.

“How long will the wait time be for new lungs?” Calum asked.

Michael shrugged. “I really have no clue,” he said.

“There’s no median wait time?”

“No,” Michael said. “Everything has to be perfect for it to go through and get lungs that are the right blood and tissue type and the right size and in good condition for me. I can’t get like, COPD lungs or something. It’s literally predicting death.”

Calum frowned. “I’d give you my lungs if I could but I’m kinda using them. And I’m O-neg.”

Michael shrugged. “It’s okay, I understand. I’m A-pos.”

“That wouldn’t work,” Calum chuckled.

Michael grabbed the bag of salt and vinegar crisps away from Luke, stretching across his lap because Luke was ignoring them in favour of tutoring Ashton.

“The integral of the exterior derivative of a K-form over an M-manifold is the same as the integral of the K-form over the boundary of the manifold,” Luke said.

Ashton blinked. “Okay, that’s not even English. What the fuck?”

Michael laughed. “Earth to Luke, come back to the world of ‘doge’ and emojis, please.”

Luke looked at him. “Stokes theorem isn’t _that_ hard,” he said while Ashton and Calum giggled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Michael giggled, coughing and touching his cheek. “You don’t know how nerdy you are.”

Luke flushed and leaned into his hand. “Shut up,” he mumbled.

Michael kissed his nose and popped a crisp into his mouth, snuggling in closer to him. He thought of the bag he had in his car, just in case he got his call while he was sitting here with his friends and his boyfriend. It was full of everything he would need post-transplant – toiletries, pajamas, pajamas, pajamas, underwear and socks and comfy slippers. He wouldn’t have time to run around his house packing everything so they went out and got new everything and Michael opted for the softest fabrics.

Everything in his life was now a soft maybe, a just in case. Plans were hard to say yes to, especially when Luke suggested they go to a concert a few months away. He might be able to go – he might have to leave in the middle of the set or he might be in the hospital with his chest torn open and his organs being ripped out of his body or he might be recovering, hooked up to endless amounts of machines until his body got used to the idea of new lungs.

“You okay?” Luke asked quietly, looking at him with a soft, fond look.

“I’m okay,” Michael replied, taking his hand.

“Dad made you a cake,” Luke said.

“Oh, did he?” Michael asked, fighting back a laugh.

“He’s great at cake, actually. He wanted to frost them pink, like lungs, but also wanted a double chocolate cake so he used white chocolate icing. I think you’ll like it.”

Michael grinned. “Your dad drives a motorcycle and enjoys baking?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah. Mum hates baking but dad is great at it. Want cake?”

“I’m sorry, did I just hear the word ‘want’ followed by the word ‘cake’?” Ashton asked. “Because if you were asking me, hell yes I want some cake.”

“Well, I was asking my _boyfriend_ , thank you,” Luke teased. “But yeah, we’re having cake. Vaguely lung-shaped cake that my dad made.”

Luke brought it out and he was right. It was vaguely lung-shaped, with a few attempts at blue veins, and pink icing. And it was incredible, sweet and moist and Michael made a point to mention how nice he found it on their way to bed, Luke holding onto his hand.

Andy smiled while Liz sat there, her nose stuck in a Sudoku. “Thank you,” he said. “It didn’t look a lot like lungs but it tasted damn good.”

Michael nodded. “It really did, it was fantastic.”

“You have a good night,” he said. “Congratulations on getting on the transplant list.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. “Now I just have to stay healthy.”

“You will, I’m sure.”

“Thanks.”

“Night, dad,” Luke said from behind Michael, a hand going to rest on his hip.

Michael followed him up the stairs, which winded him and he thought about getting his call – soon, maybe. He followed Luke to his room and shut the door behind the both of them, trying to catch his breath. It always embarrassed him, breathing heavily after a flight of stairs, but he couldn’t help it.

Luke pressed a kiss low on his cheek, closer to his jaw and pressing up close to him while Michael fought to regain control of his breathing. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, wishing he had oxygen with him that didn’t require a trip to his car.

Luke pressed a hand to his chest and Michael wrapped his arms around Luke’s waist as his teeth came out, grazing gently over the skin on his jaw. Michael tipped his head back, breathing out softly and then trying to inhale before he passed out.

“Are you still well enough for sex?” Luke asked, looking up at him. “I want you.”

Michael had to pause and he thought that he wanted it, too, but he didn’t want to ruin his chances at a lung transplant. But then again, his doctors were all about him getting exercise and sex was exercise so it sort of made sense.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. I can do it.”

“You’re sure?” Luke asked, fingers playing around the hem of Michael’s shirt.

Michael nodded. “I’m sure. I can definitely handle this.”

Luke looked dubious but his fingers slid under his shirt anyway, warm. Michael pulled his shirt off, thinking about how in a few months he would have a brand new scar under his breast where his new lungs would be. Luke surged back in as soon as his shirt came off, peppering kisses to his chest and his neck, nibbling at his collarbone and remembering where Michael’s port was so he didn’t mess with it.

Michael leaned his head back, thinking that it had been so long since he felt _well_ but he always felt pretty okay around Luke, like his illness was manageable.

He guided them over to Luke’s bed, thinking that they were about to have sex on Luke’s childhood bed while his parents were home. He watched Luke pull off his clothes save for his boxers and Michael worried that he would get winded taking off his skinny jeans and he wondered why he even bothered with them anymore.

“I want to feel you,” Luke murmured as he straddled Michael, rolling his hips on Michael’s slowly and expertly, making him shut his eyes. “All of you.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, watching Luke unbutton his jeans, his hands, as always, just a little shaky. Luke tugged them down, doing the hard work for Michael and he thought that if there was a God, he had done something completely right to be blessed with Luke in his life.

Luke leaned down and kissed Michael, hard and needy, and Michael reached up and tugged at his hair. Luke didn’t pull away from the kiss so much as he stopped kissing, a small noise escaping from the back of his throat and his eyes shut.

Michael pulled his hands out of Luke’s hair, worried that he’d hurt him but Luke’s eyes opened immediately and he glanced at Michael’s hands which hovered somewhere between them, unsure where to put them now.

“God, do that again,” Luke said and Michael reached one hand up into his hair. He tugged again and Luke pressed his hips down against Michael’s. A glance down at their crotches revealed everything Michael needed to know – that Luke liked getting his hair pulled in bed.

Michael grabbed the lube out of the drawer, pulling a condom out as well so he didn’t have to go back later, and he looked at Luke. He used one hand to tug Luke’s boxers down just enough so he had good access to his ass and Luke lifted a leg so he could slide them all the way off. His cock was already hard, pressed up against his stomach and Michael resisted the urge to just sit up and suck Luke off until he cried from overstimulation.

He slicked up his fingers on his right hand, trying to warm the lube before he pressed it against a sensitive area, and he took one finger and circled Luke’s hole, making him shiver.

“Is this okay?” Michael asked, applying the lightest pressure he could. Every time they had sex ever since Luke revealed he’d been raped, he took the utmost care of him, keeping them talking to each other at all times.

“Yeah,” Luke whispered, tipping his head back. Michael pushed himself up so he could nip and kiss at Luke’s exposed neck, listening to him breathe as he pressed his finger in slowly.

Michael bit down gently on Luke’s collarbone and he listened to him whinge, trying to keep himself quiet. It was fairly close to exhibitionism, he thought, having sex so close to Luke’s parents, but he reminded himself to not fucking think about that with his finger up Luke’s ass.

He slid another finger in when Luke gave him the okay, pressing them both deeper in an attempt to find his prostate. He knew he found it when Luke shuddered and just barely bit back a moan, whining desperately into Michael’s shoulder. Something warm dripped onto Michael’s thigh as he rubbed slowly and gently against his prostate and he used his other hand to steady Luke’s hip.

“Are you coming?” He asked softly, squeezing Luke’s hip.

“No,” Luke mumbled, face buried in Michael’s shoulder. “You’re milking my prostate.”

“Does it feel good?”

Luke whined softly. “So, so good.”

Michael smiled and slid another finger into him, mostly trying to get him to relax before he fucked him. When Michael pulled his fingers out and grabbed a tissue to clean them off with, Luke looked at him, his cheeks flushed and his breath coming faster.

“Can you fuck me bareback?” Luke asked, attaching a quick eye-bat that made Michael short-circuit.

The rational side of his brain came back with warning bells and alarms, reminding him that he needed to be in the best of health and any infections would take him off the waiting list. “I can’t,” he responded, grabbing the condom. He was fairly sure Luke wouldn’t give him an STI but he just couldn’t risk it.

Luke pouted. “I want to feel you, please.”

“Not this time,” Michael said and Luke nodded, watching him get the condom on and lube up.

Michael guided Luke down onto his cock, the both of them inhaling as he sunk down to take him all the way in, deep. Luke did the hard work while Michael laid back and tried to remind his lungs to work while also trying to enjoy the sex. It struck him in the middle of it when they were both sweating and Michael was trying not to cough and lose his hard-on that this might be the last time he had sex with the lungs he was born with. His call could come tomorrow and this could be the last time he was able to have sex for four to twelve weeks.

“Michael, fuck,” Luke moaned, barely keeping his volume in check. “I’m so close.”

Michael grabbed Luke’s hips, pressing up deeper into him and Luke whined as he came, streaking spunk over their stomachs and chests and Michael followed shortly after, coming into the condom.

They cleaned up and lay together, Michael reminding his lungs to fucking cooperate while Luke brushed at his hair.

“I love you so much,” Luke whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss against Michael’s ribs. “You’re my favourite person in the whole world.”

Michael coughed, deep and phlegmy, and tried to control his breathing. “I love you too,” he was able to choke out before he dissolved into another coughing fit and Luke just sat with him, brushing at his hair and kissing his cheek.

They fell asleep together after Michael hooked up his various IVs and tubes.

In the morning, he woke up to Luke bringing them both plates of food, smiling. “Oh good, you’re awake,” he said, handing one of the plates to Michael. Eggs, bacon, toast with jam. It looked fantastic but he wasn’t hungry at all.

“Thank you,” he said, coughing as he sat up and wishing he’d thought to bring his oxygen. Technically, he was supposed to do airway clearance before eating but he at least remembered to bring his meds with him. Luke grabbed the bottle of enzymes before he had a chance to strain for them and he smiled through his coughing fit.

“No offense, but your lungs sound awful,” Luke said as he sat next to him with his plate of food.

“Happens,” Michael managed, trying to clear his throat and not think about coughing.

They ate their breakfast together and Michael managed his way through most of the bacon and toast, but he had come to loathe eggs over his nineteen years and took a few small, polite bites because he didn’t think Luke’s parents knew he didn’t like eggs and he didn’t want to risk throwing up all over Luke’s bed.

Michael detached himself from his IVs and packed everything up. It was such a hassle to visit other people because he had to remember everything and he wished it weren’t such a hassle for Luke to come visit him as well.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Luke asked as Michael folded up his vest.

“Go ahead,” Michael smiled, packing it in its special bag.

“Why’d you refuse to let us go without a condom last night?” He asked.

“Because I need to be in the best health possible and if I like, got an STI or something, I’m pretty sure I’d be taken off the waiting list.”

Luke frowned. “An STI?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“You think I have an STI?” Luke asked, a note of disgust in his voice.

“I didn’t say that,” Michael said. “I just need to be safe.”

Luke sighed. “You think I have an STI,” he said. “I can’t believe I told you about Christina and now you think I have an STI?”

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” he repeated. “I’m saying that I don’t know if you’re clean or not. I would happily go without a condom if I first got confirmation that I would be safe. I’m going to have a double lung transplant in the next few months and that’s goddamn terrifying. I need to be in perfect health.”

“You think I’m not clean!”

Michael sighed and thought that he just shouldn’t have talked about it. “Whatever,” he said, grabbing his things even though he knew he’d have to take a few trips to get it all to his car. “Talk to me when you’re calm, okay?”

Luke rolled his eyes and sat down without helping Michael take his things. It took him two trips but he had to pull around the corner just to catch his breath without seeming like he was idling in Luke’s driveway.

For the first time, he went to his doctor for something completely not related to CF – STIs. He asked for a general test, just to prove that he was safe. The blood test made him worry that Luke would refuse to get tested because of his fear of needles but he figured that Luke would do it at some point if Michael asked.

Luke texted at some point that he got tested but he sounded like he was still annoyed and Michael tried to wait it out. He knew that they had to wait for the results as well so he decided that he would rest and save the big discussion for when their results came in and when he felt mildly less like he was dying.

Michael woke up in the morning he was supposed to get his results and he rolled over onto his side, staring at the posters on the wall and the photos of Luke and he thought about how much he wanted to go back to school. His phone buzzed beside him, ringing, and he thought it must be Luke – or maybe the clinic calling to remind him he would find his results in the mail or maybe saying it would take one more day.

“Hello?” He asked, thinking he hadn’t checked the number.

“Michael Clifford? Hi, love, it’s Rana, your transplant coordinator,” she said.

He laid back, thinking it was one of the checkup calls, where they checked that his health was fair. He answered the questions about recent infections, anything health-related that was not perfect, and he wanted to go back to sleep until Luke got off school and he could call him or see him.

“Okay, thank you,” she said. “I think we’ve got a pair of lungs for you, so I’m ordering an ambulance to your house as soon as possible and that will transport you to the hospital, all right?”

Michael sat bolt upright, a wave of excitement and anxiety rushing through him. “Really?”

“Yes, dear,” she said, laughing quietly. “Get your things ready.”

Michael sprang out of bed, forgetting completely about his sickness, and he ran over to his bag, making sure everything was there. He called his mum at work, having to talk to the person who answered the phone first.

“Michael, how are you?” Leslie the secretary asked, sounding like she was trying to make conversation. Ordinarily, Michael adored her because she kept candy with her and always gave him some but at the moment, he really just needed his mum.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said. “Is my mum there?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

The phone was handed over, evidenced by the fumbling noises before Karen got a hold of it. “Hello, Karen Clifford speaking.”

“Mum? I got my call,” Michael breathed, hardly feeling like any of it was real. “I got my call. They’re sending an ambulance to take me.”

“Oh my God!”

“Come home, please, I need you.”

“Okay, holy shit,” she mumbled. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. If I don’t see you, I love you and I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered before he disconnected and repeated the same ordeal with his dad, except his dad always had his cell phone on and he got to him directly.

They both promised the same thing, that they would be there shortly. But Daryl worked further away than Karen and to economise on transportation, Daryl took the bus and tram to work and even though it was maybe a half hour drive at worst, it was always at least an hour before he could get home from work. They’d worked out this situation, however: Karen would drive home (potentially breaking a few laws) and she would travel in the ambulance with Michael and once Daryl got home, he would take the car up to the hospital and hopefully be there before Michael went in for surgery.

Michael changed quickly into something less mortifying than his _Star Wars_ boxers and a ratty old shirt. He threw on a pair of sweats and a sweater and grabbed his bag and the last few things he would need: his phone charger, all his medications in their original bottles and finally, his stuffed lion, Daniel, who went with him to every single hospital visit. He unhooked his IV and his NG tube and he thought that he hadn’t had anything to eat and he wondered if that was okay or if it was better.

Karen arrived, harried and still in her work-clothes: a blouse and skirt and high heels. The ambulance arrived shortly after and Michael was loaded into the back with a paramedic and his mum sitting on the uncomfortable-looking metal bench. The paramedic did a good job of calming him down, chatting with him and telling stories of her diabetic daughter who still hated needles at three years old.

Michael listened politely and thought that he had to tell Luke he got his call still and he didn’t want it to be over text but he also didn’t really want to talk about STI testing in front of his mum and a paramedic.

He opened up their texting thread and peered at the empty box, not knowing what to say. Finally, he just said it.

_Michael_  
10:43AM  
I got my call. I’m on my way to St. Vincent’s. If I don’t see you before I go under or something I love you and I’m going to be okay.

He held his phone tight the moment he sent it, waiting for any feeling of vibration and he willed Luke to respond so he could kiss him one last time before he went in for a life-saving operation.

His phone buzzed after ten minutes.

_Luke_  
10:55AM  
holy fucking shit oh my god really??? Fuck fuck fuck I’ll be there asap I love you too and I am so happy!!!

Michael smiled and it felt like an end to the fight they had and the distance Luke had put between them. It wasn’t completely repaired but he knew that it didn’t matter anymore if Michael was getting his transplant. They could talk about it when he had new lungs and when he didn’t care as much about being in perfect health.

They arrived at the hospital in record time and Michael was taken to the transplant ward with his mum, where they did all the pre-op tests. He was hungry by now and he had his enzymes with him but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to eat or if it was recommended that he should eat or even if he could ask.

Daryl arrived in record time, coming in about an hour after them and giving Michael a giant hug in the middle of an ABG test, which made all the nurses laugh. Luke arrived after about ten minutes and a nurse popped in while they did the ECG, knocking on the door.

“Mr. Clifford has a visitor,” she said, forming it almost like a question.

Michael heard his heart monitor, beeping with every heartbeat, ratchet up a notch. “Is it Luke?”

“Yes,” the receptionist said, looking to the doctor and nurses in the room to get their opinion.

“That’s fine, let him in.”

Luke raced in the moment they gave him the go-ahead and Michael beamed at him, taking his hands as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“This is really happening?” Luke asked, looking amazed and worried all at once.

Michael nodded, “Yeah,” he whispered. There were so many emotions coursing through him that he didn’t know what to do and he almost felt like running around just to get rid of all the energy.

Luke kissed him and Michael didn’t care about if Luke had some infection or cold that could turn into an infection and he just kissed him back full.

They did more tests and swabs and the works of everything to prove that Michael was healthy and that he would be as ready as he could to accept the new lungs. It was all waiting for the recovery team to assess the donor and if the lungs were a good match or if they were good, healthy lungs at all.

An hour after Luke arrived, the transplant coordinator, Rana, came in and asked how he was feeling.

“I’m okay,” Michael said, holding onto Luke’s hand.

She nodded. “I’m glad, dear. I’m sorry, but I have bad news for you. The lungs aren’t good enough to be used for transplant.”

Michael let his breath out and he immediately felt like crying.

“The surgeon said there was absolutely no way she would ever use the lung for transplant,” she said with a frown. “Anyway, we’re just going to take a bit of blood so it’s all up to date and then you can get home and rest up.”

He nodded and let them take his blood before his parents and Luke all went back out to the car.

“We’ll go have something to eat,” Karen said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“It was good to have a practice run,” Daryl put-in. “That way it won’t be as scary next time.”

“Do you want me to get Ashton or something? He’d be so happy to see you,” Luke said and Michael looked at him.

He shrugged, pulling away from his mum and taking Luke’s hand. “Okay.”

“Are you going with Luke, then?” Karen asked, reaching out to put her hand back on his shoulders. “You can if you’d like, you’ll just need to grab your enzymes.”

“Yeah, I’ll go with Luke for a little bit. Is that okay?” He asked. The day was still fairly young and his parents had nothing really much better to do than stay with Michael and spend time with him.

“Absolutely,” Daryl said, kissing him on the head. “Just be home tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael smiled.

He grabbed his enzymes from his go-bag and followed Luke to his car, taking a breath once the door was closed.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked.

Michael nodded. “Yeah. Like dad said, it’s good to have a practice run and I’m glad they didn’t use the lungs if they weren’t good enough. I’m glad that some of the donor’s organs were probably good enough to use, though. Someone else got a life-changing surgery today.”

Luke took his hand and his hand was warm against Michael’s cooler skin. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So, I got my test results back today from that God-awful STI test.”

Michael looked at him furtively, knowing that it was a touchy subject and he didn’t want to press it.

“I’m clean. I can show you, if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay, I believe you,” Michael said. “I’m sorry about that I didn’t –”

“No, I’m sorry,” Luke said. “I overreacted. I know it’s not because of what happened with Christina. You’re just being safe and I get that now. I’m sorry.”

Michael sighed and laced their fingers together. “It’s okay. Promise.”

Luke smiled. “Did you get yours as well?”

“I probably did but they’re at home. I’ll send them to you later.”

Luke grinned. “And if we’re both clean, will you fuck me bareback?”

Michael laughed and coughed. “ _Maybe_.”

They went back towards USyd and they stopped in a café for lunch – albeit a late lunch – together. It was lovely and Michael had a giant mug of hot chocolate as a way to make himself feel a bit better about not having had his transplant. After lunch, Luke parked near USyd and they walked together towards the dorms and Luke explained Ashton’s new roommate to him: some engineering student who spent half the time with his nose in a book and the other half reading _Lord of the Rings_. He was nice enough, Luke said, but just not the same as having Michael around all the time.

Michael knocked on Ashton’s door, the same dorm he spent most of last year in and he missed it. He missed having a sharps container in a dorm, scaring the shit out of his RA, especially near the end of last year when he got IV deliveries.

Ashton called out, “Come in!”

Michael opened the door and poked his head in. Ashton had his face stuffed into a textbook and hardly glanced up.

“What’s up?” Ashton asked, highlighting something on his printed notes.

Michael cleared his throat and Ashton sighed and looked up.

“Mikey!” He said happily, capping his highlighter. “Can I hug you? Is that okay?”

Michael nodded and went over, giving Ashton a big hug.

“What’s going on? You’re both here and you both, no offense, look like a mess.”

“We had a false alarm this morning,” Luke said. “Thought Michael was getting a transplant but no dice.”

“Lungs weren’t good enough,” Michael sighed.

Ashton frowned. “Wanna get drunk?”

“Can’t,” Michael said, thinking about his meds and how he couldn’t fuck with them. He didn’t want to die.

“Well, then, we’ll order pizza and breadsticks,” Ashton said. “I’ll get Calum to come up and he can bring an ice cream cake, or something.”

Michael chuckled and Luke smiled, putting a hand on Michael’s head. “Okay.”

Calum couldn’t make it, drowning in midterms and anatomy quizzes, but Ashton ducked out and got a cake when he picked up the pizza. Michael wasn’t hungry, having had a big lunch and fighting multiple infections, but he tried to eat as much as he could even though by the time he choked down his last bite he worried he would vomit.

Michael wanted to fall asleep in the dorm, on the uncomfortable bed across from Ashton and he would be able to look out the window at the trees and the stars. Luke drove him home and stayed with him while he did his treatments, well into midnight even though he had a class in the morning (it wasn’t until half-ten but it was still quite the drive back to campus for Luke).

He stayed awake once he was done his treatments, listening to the sound of Luke’s car starting outside his window and he followed it until it blurred into the noises of other cars on nearby roads and he was alone. His parents were close by, just across the hall, but he didn’t want to be here was the thing.

He wanted to be in the hospital, as counterintuitive as it was. He wanted to have new lungs and he wanted to be in surgery right now and he didn’t want to have had a false alarm. He knew they were common but he just wanted the surgery to save his life before he bit it.

Most of all, Michael didn’t want to die.

He expected it and he knew that after his lung transplant, it would buy him a few years but it wouldn’t buy him forever and he wouldn’t live to the same age Luke probably would. He probably wouldn’t even make it to his parents’ funerals and wasn’t that the point of children? To have someone around to comfort you in your final moments, to remember you after you died and tell stories about you to their own children? Michael probably wouldn’t even have children: he was effectively sterile. Besides, he’d be so worried about giving his child CF that if he ever truly wanted a kid he would just adopt.

Michael took a breath and thought about how there were usually a couple of false alarms with transplants, especially deceased donor transplants. He was warned about this and he went into it knowing that it would probably happen to him, too. He would just have to wait a little bit longer and his phone could ring again tomorrow morning.

He just had to be there to answer it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on [ my tumblr!](mochalou.tumblr.com)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is a little bit of drama for you! enjoy this chapter and enjoy knowing that i am very much almost done the entire fic!

Michael didn’t have a lot to do what with sitting around waiting for a phone call at almost all times of the day. He still _did_ things. He went shopping with his mum, he helped cook and he went for a walk just to move around but sometimes he was too tired to do much other than lay around and scroll through whatever had his interest. He watched a lot of Buzzfeed videos and pirated any movie he could just to have something to do.

Today was one of those laying around days where he only got out of bed to grab food because he knew he had to and get water and go pee. Otherwise, he was firmly in bed.

His non-activity of choice was scrolling through his email to see what he could unsubscribe to and save space. He had already found things from former profs that got sorted into spam accidentally. No point in responding to them now, he guessed. The email refreshed spontaneously, signalling that he had a new email and he scrolled to the top of the page to find it. It was an email from Ticketmaster, telling him about people who were going to be playing in Sydney soon and what tickets would be on sale this week.

Taylor Swift was the top of the list, playing in Sydney in a few weeks. Michael immediately clicked to see if there were available tickets, at least one that he could snatch up. The page loaded too slow and then asked him to confirm his humanity. (He thought about the irony of it: a robot making sure he was not also a robot.)

It told him to please be patient, as this could take a few minutes and he sighed and laid back against the pillows while it tried to show him available tickets. It clicked up with two tickets available, not in the nosebleeds and not super close to the stage but still good. He clicked on them immediately and purchased them, thinking that he was so fucking lucky.

Michael glanced at the time and he knew Luke was on break from class for an hour, studying for a calculus test. But wouldn’t it be nice to interrupt his study break with this news?

“Hey,” Luke said, the noise of the library making it into the call. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, love,” Michael said, smiling. “More than fine.”

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

“Well, you know how Taylor Swift is coming to Australia in a few weeks?”

Luke was silent for a beat. “What the fuck.”

“I may have gotten tickets…”

“Michael, what the fuck.” His voice ratcheted up a notch, getting higher. “If you’re lying, I will find you and I will kill you.”

Michael laughed, which lead to a coughing fit. “I’m not kidding! I am taking you to see Taylor Swift in a couple of weeks and if you don’t agree to be my date, I will be so heartbroken.”

“But… _how_?” Luke asked, giggling. “I heard she sold out in like, forty seconds. Broke a record or something.”

“I have no idea, I’ve just got a magic touch, I guess.”

“You’re a genius and a miracle worker and I love you.”

Michael beamed, trying not to feel too proud of himself. “I love you, too.”

“I can’t believe you – even my mum tried to get me tickets to surprise me and she failed.”

They kept talking until Luke had to go to class and Michael was once again all alone in his room.

He wished he had a younger sibling, or something, so that he could at least have someone to bug and maybe his sibling would still be in high school and he could go pick them up from school and take them to Macca’s on the way home, be the coolest brother ever.

He knew very well why he didn’t have any siblings and it was because his parents didn’t want to have another child with CF. It was because one child with CF was enough work for them and cost them enough money already and they simply couldn’t afford to have another child – it would cost them too much money and too much patience.

Michael knew why he didn’t have a sibling but it didn’t stop him from wanting one. He wanted to be like Jack and Ben were to Luke, showing him horror movies when he was too young and buying alcohol for him when he was still underage and giving him condoms if he was too shy to buy them himself.

It was too late to happen now, anyway, he reminded himself as he tried to pick himself up out of his self-pity. He had shit to do and lungs to take care of.

 

On the afternoon of Taylor Swift, Michael found himself sitting on the edge of Luke’s bed, watching him peer at all of his shirts while he sat there with a cannula in his nose. It was at the advice of his doctors that he have supplementary oxygen if he were doing something that may strain his lungs – such as working out or perhaps screaming until he lost his voice at a concert with his boyfriend.

Luke looked at him with a sigh, his stomach pooching out over his black skinny jeans. Michael thought about how he was desperately trying not to have wasting syndrome (so far he was doing good and his doctors and parents were impressed).

“Okay, what the fuck am I supposed to wear?” Luke asked, frowning at his collection of Green Day and Good Charlotte t-shirts. “I can’t wear any of this to Taylor Swift and I grew out of my Red Tour shirt and I just don’t know.”

“Well you look really good in red, honestly,” Michael said, standing and going over to him. The cannula tugged and he sighed, remembering he was on oxygen, and he had to go back to pull it closer.

Luke pouted.

Michael reached his hand into the drawer, at one of the few coloured shirts hidden among the black. He held it up to Luke’s pale chest (bare and clear of any scars or marks except for a few brave and soft chest hairs starting to pop up) and assessed it. The plaid added a pattern to the outfit and the red looked good against Luke’s skin and hair and he smiled.

“This one,” he said, handing it to Luke. “This one and then you have to bring a sweater.”

Luke raised his brows as he slid his arms into the shirt. “Are you sure? I’ll be dancing, we’ll have my car, I’m sure I’ll be warm enough.”

“Yeah, but just in case. And it’ll add some layers and everything to the outfit.”

Luke laughed. “You should be a designer.”

Michael laughed and turned away as he coughed. “Yeah, right,” he said.

Luke buttoned the shirt and kissed Michael quickly when he was done. “Thank you for this,” he said quietly, cupping Michael’s cheeks. “Thank you.”

Michael beamed and kissed him again. “Absolutely,” he said.

They left Luke’s house not without saying goodbye to Luke’s parents, who gazed at Michael a little sadly now that he was wearing a more obvious sign of his disease. They went to have an early dinner with Jack and his girlfriend at some really great restaurant that all the Hemmings boys frequented. They apparently served some of the best craft beer around and though Michael couldn’t drink, they promised that he would still enjoy the food.

He did and he enjoyed the company enough to forget that he was actively dying and that any moment his phone could ring and he would wreck the entire evening for Luke. It would probably be another false alarm anyway and he didn’t want to ruin tonight for anything except maybe the idea of having fresh new lungs but only if it was a guarantee.

The evening was incredible – the show was amazing and Michael was only exhausted by the end, not feeling sick, but it may have been because cheering made him cough which made him clear some mucus from his lungs. It was disgusting for the people around them but they thankfully had an aisle seat that Michael took for quick exiting if he needed to.

Michael transported his things to Luke’s house so that neither of them had to make the extra-long drive back to Michael’s house. He didn’t realize that he fell asleep on the drive home until he woke up to Luke putting him in the bed.

He woke up enough to take his meds, do his nebs and his vest while Luke buzzed about the concert, going through the photos he took to find one decent enough to go on Instagram. Michael adored him but he was so sleepy and he once again fell asleep with his vest on.

In the morning, they woke up together and Luke was the one who was fast asleep, splayed out on his back and snoring. Michael couldn’t help but chuckle as he sat up and disconnected himself from all his various tubes before anything else.

Michael glanced at the time and saw that it was early on a weekday morning (but thankfully Luke didn’t have class) and he thought about how awful the drive back home would be. Even if he left at noon, he would get caught in rush hour traffic the minute he hit his own town. He stayed sitting up in Luke’s bed – warm and cozy – for a few minutes, thinking about how he had to get up and take his meds and eat something to take with his meds and of course that would mean more meds and he had to do his vest before that and – sometimes it was a little much.

He had a full time job taking care of himself.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table, always charged and always on loud. To keep Luke peaceful, Michael answered the phone immediately before it had a chance to wake Luke.

“Hello?” He whispered.

“Hi, Michael,” a woman said. “It’s your transplant coordinator. We might have some lungs for you.”

Michael nearly dropped the phone, nearly screamed out loud. “I – I’m in Sydney, I’m closer to the hospital at my boyfriend’s house.”

At her request, he rattled off the address, having memorized it for this purpose.

“Okay, Michael, an ambulance will be there in a few minutes.”

Michael hung up and realized he didn’t have any idea what to do. His parents were both at work three hours away and in three hours he might not be conscious anymore. He called them both and stood up to scramble into something more socially acceptable than his boxers. He remembered to throw his meds into their bags as he talked to his parents, trying to multitask for fear he would miss the window in which he could get a transplant.

By the time he came back in from getting his go-bag, Luke was awake, bleary-eyed and asking what was wrong, why he was dressed.

“Transplant call,” Michael whispered, thanking every single possible deity out there that this had not happened during the Taylor Swift concert.

Luke bolted up and got dressed, leaving a note for his parents.

The ambulance arrived in perfect time and, since Karen and Daryl were both meeting Michael at the hospital, hopefully, he took Luke with him in the ambulance. They swerved through traffic and rush hour and Michael held onto Luke’s hand as well as the rail on the gurney despite the straps across his chest and lap keeping him from flying against the door of the ambulance.

Luke tried to make light jokes about it, keep them both happy, especially when the driver had to lean on the horn at someone. It was scary enough facing the prospect of new lungs without the addition of traffic jams.

They arrived in record time (especially because Michael was still used to the three-hour journey it was from his own house) and the paramedics took Michael up to the coordinator. The receptionist asked the paramedics to wait around to speak to the coordinator and Michael felt his heart sink: it was another false alarm.

His fears were confirmed when the coordinator approached, a sad smile on her pudgy face. “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, love,” she said. “But one of the lungs just isn’t good enough.”

Michael nodded. He couldn’t get a single-lung transplant, even though it would help, because inevitably bacteria from his CF-infected lung would spread to the new lung and ruin it. “It’s okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Maybe third time will be the charm, yeah?” She said, still wearing that pitiful smile.

He nodded and the paramedics were able to take him back to Luke’s. He called his parents to tell them and they agreed to just meet him at Luke’s house and they could take him back home.

Luke held his hand as they loaded into the ambulance, Michael yawning. “You okay?” He asked.

He nodded and squeezed his hand. “Yeah. I’m lucky I’ve gotten two calls in as many months. Means I’m easy to match so it has to happen soon.”

Luke smiled. “I’d give you my lungs if I didn’t need them. Maybe I’ll give you a kidney or something one day.”

“A kidney?” Michael laughed, laying back against the bed.

“Yeah, a kidney,” Luke giggled and he kissed his forehead. “Sleep. You look exhausted.”

Michael slept all the way home and when they arrived back at Luke’s, Karen and Daryl were already there and they enveloped him in a big hug. Everyone agreed that they were sorry he hadn’t gotten the lungs he needed yet and Andy and Liz proceeded to make the biggest, most indulgent breakfast they could think of.

Michael went home with his parents afterward, falling asleep in the passenger seat to the familiar sounds of the highway.

 

Despite how hard he tried to not get sick, washing his hands religiously and remaining largely a homebody (although he often got lunch with Ashton or Luke or Calum or a combination of all three), infection rose up out of (almost) nowhere. He woke up a week after Taylor Swift, six days after his second false alarm, with a deep, painful cough and such lethargy that he could hardly get himself up to go to the bathroom. He worried that this was it – the beginning of the actual end.

Because it was very obviously an infection, he had to go to St. Vincent’s and they confirmed that it was infection and they had to remove him from the transplant list until he was better.

Michael was absolutely fucking gutted. He worried he would miss the opportunity for perfect lungs – for someone with exactly what he needed and with healthy lungs that the surgeon would finally use.

He went to the clinic and they shuffled his antibiotics and took sputum samples but they said there wasn’t much they could do for him otherwise and thus, sent him home with a new prescription for antibiotics and a heaviness in his heart. He was confined to his house, stuck watching TV or reading books until he was so bored he wanted to cry. He slept most of the time, a side effect of meds and of an infection, and it got to the point where he was too weak or too exhausted or something to wash his own hair. His parents had to help when he finally got so sick of his own greasy ass hair.

Michael felt like a horrible boyfriend but Luke did everything he could to make it work. They Skyped and they watched movies at the same time over Facetime. But Michael felt like a bad boyfriend because he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – be able to go on a date for a while and they weren’t able to meet up because Luke had a cold and he didn’t want to pass it onto Michael and make things worse.

Most of all, Michael just felt like being sick got in the way of everything he wanted to do.

He woke up in the morning with some difficulty breathing but it was nothing new. He had learned over the years to deal with the feeling of a new infection blossoming in his chest and making him feel like he had just run a marathon when in reality he had just woken up. He checked his phone before doing anything else and found that it was late in the morning on a Saturday. He could hear his parents beyond his door, talking, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Carefully, Michael got out of bed and took his IV pole with him and padded down the hall to the bathroom. He needed a piss but he wanted to know if they were talking about him.

“I just don’t know how this is going to work,” Karen said and Michael bit down on his tongue. Were his parents getting a divorce in the midst of everything else?

“Come on, don’t give up so soon,” Daryl prompted. “We have to at least try a little longer.”

Michael hoped to surreptitiously peek around the corner when his lungs decided that coughing was now necessary and could not be avoided. He tried to muffle it but it only ended up worse and Daryl came to the doorway.

“Hey, did you just get up?” He asked, rubbing Michael’s back as he coughed, hard and deep but not getting any mucus out.

Michael nodded, taking a breath that didn’t seem to do anything for his fighting lungs.

“You okay?” He asked, touching Michael’s hand. Daryl’s hand was significantly warmer than his. “Your hands are freezing.”

“I’m okay,” he said, leaning against the wall and thinking that standing for this long wasn’t a good idea. “Just woke up, is all.”

Daryl looked at him, concerned, and eventually nodded.

Michael ducked into the bathroom and sat down to piss. He leaned against the wall and took a deep breath to the count of five but it didn’t seem to help anything. He figured that today was probably the worst day of his infection and that it would start getting better soon and the antibiotics would start helping soon. He stood up to wash his hands, too quickly, evidently, because his vision went black for a minute and he grabbed onto the counter as he panted and waited for his vision to return.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and he thought it was weird – that his hands were so cold but he was sweating and he didn’t know if he should put on a sweater or change into shorts.

His parents’ conversation still worried him, too, and he didn’t want them to get a divorce. It would be so awful while he was recovering from his transplant to have them in his room, silent and possibly tossing glares at each other. He’d never really been without his parents for that long and he could remember as a little kid going to the clinic and his parents would be holding hands. They couldn’t break up now.

Michael dried his hands and carried his IV pole with him to the kitchen, knowing he had to eat something before he could take his meds. Karen looked over at him as he pawed through the fridge for the English muffins.

“Want some juice?” She asked.

Michael looked over at her, standing awkwardly against the counter like she was hiding something and he wondered if it was divorce papers. He shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

She got the orange juice when Michael was turned around, separating the English muffin into halves.

“What are you hiding?” Michael asked as he slid the muffin into the toaster oven and turned it on.

Karen handed him a glass of orange juice and he looked at her. “Nothing,” she said, completely unconvincing.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you and dad getting a divorce?” He asked quietly and immediately regretted it. It would wreck his whole day if she told him yes, they were getting a divorce.

“No, love,” she said. “What makes you think that?”

“I heard you guys talking, saying stuff about how you didn’t think it was going to work.”

She chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “No, Michael, we’re not getting a divorce. I love your father. We were just discussing… a surprise for you.”

He looked up at her and frowned. “That hardly sounds good,” he said.

“After you eat, you’ll see,” she said, smiling.

Michael fished out his English muffins and slathered them in butter – the more calories the better – before also putting raspberry jam on top. He ate while texting with Luke, wishing that he could see him and worrying that Luke would break up with him because of the distance.

Once he pushed his plate away, Karen came into the room with Daryl behind her and he was carrying something. Michael looked up at them and set his phone down.

“So, we know that you’ve now had two false alarms for your transplant and it’s scary and it always sucks for you,” Karen said. “And all you really want is new lungs so… we tried to make you new lungs.”

Michael frowned. “Please tell me I’m not the children of Frankenstein.”

They laughed and came closer, Daryl setting down a cake shaped vaguely like a pair of lungs with pink icing that had some blue icing melted into it in some spots.

“As you probably already know, neither of us are very good at art,” Daryl said. “But we tried and that counts, right?”

Michael laughed. “That counts, yeah. This is really cute. Thanks.”

They ate cake together for lunch and it was nice except that Michael still felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried everything, making sure that his parents weren’t noticing all that much every time he shifted positions to try to open his airways or something. He even did his vest and nebs early just to see if it would help but nothing seemed to be working and he worried that he would have to go to the clinic.

Michael sat on the couch, ignoring his phone in favour of breathing and focusing on his breathing and maybe not dying. He counted his breaths but there was something wrong and something wasn’t happening that needed to happen and he couldn’t breathe.

Michael wheezed in a breath and he could feel his heart pounding under his chest. His hands were freezing, too cold to type, and he couldn’t breathe.

“What’s wrong?” Karen asked, looking up from her phone.

He couldn’t answer, coughing in a vain attempt to clear whatever was hurting him. His hands were shaking and his head was starting to hurt horribly and he couldn’t figure out what was wrong but something, certainly, was very, very wrong.

“Michael,” she said, going over to him as he sucked in a short breath before exhaling.

Not enough, there wasn’t enough oxygen. He coughed, panic rising in his chest only making his breathing worse and maybe that was it. Maybe it was just panic and all he had to do was calm down to make it okay again but this started before he was panicking and he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Daryl, call an ambulance,” Karen instructed calmly as she sat next to Michael and tried to help.

It felt an awful lot like the end, Michael thought as tears welled in his eyes, and he didn’t even get a chance to tell Luke he loved him one last time. He was going to leave him the same way Marc with a C had left him, without warning and leaving too big of a scar that would take too much time to heal. He didn’t even get to see Ashton or Calum again.

He couldn’t breathe and his life wasn’t flashing before his eyes or anything. His entire brain was focused on trying to get oxygen, trying to stay alive.

But it felt a lot like the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on [ my tumblr!](mochalou.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick warning that this chapter contains some mentions of blood, suicidal ideation and some other stuff that isn't super fun.. be safe and enjoy!

Michael woke up in the hospital, breathing easily again and he realized quickly after he woke up that this was because he was on BiPAP, not because he had lungs that weren’t riddled with infections and damaged beyond good use. He rolled his hands into fists and felt the finger oximeter on his hand and there was something vaguely painful in his arm that he recognized as where they’d taken arterial blood gas.

He shut his eyes again, content to just lay back and have air pushed in and out of his lungs. He was sleepy and he figured that he’d gone unconscious at some point which wasn’t quite the same as being actually asleep.

“I think he’s waking up,” he heard Daryl say somewhere to his left.

“I’ll grab a nurse,” Karen said and he heard the squeak of the vinyl chair as she stood up.

A warm hand enveloped his right hand and he heard a wet sniffle.

He wondered if he was in Nepean or if he was taken all the way to Children’s or St. Vincent’s.

“Mikey?” Luke sniffled and another hand joined the one on his right hand, grasping at it and holding on tight.

Michael opened his eyes and looked at Luke. The BiPAP got in the way a little bit but Luke immediately put on a brave, teary-eyed smile that did nothing to help how sad he looked with his face all red and wet.

“Hey, love,” Luke said, kissing his hand, the only spot he could really reach. “How are you feeling?”

Michael shook his head because he knew talking was impossible with a BiPAP and he didn’t want to remove it and risk being yelled at or just straight up dying. He didn’t feel well, either. He felt sick and he felt like he just wanted to sleep and wake up when he was all better.

“I know,” Luke said, sniffling again. “I’m sorry.”

Karen returned with a doctor who explained to Michael that he’d experienced acute respiratory failure (in conjunction, of course, with his chronic respiratory failure) and he still had his NG tube in so they were using that for the time being until he could hopefully be taken off continual BiPAP. He was in the ITU at Children’s, they explained, because they treated him at Nepean and transferred him to Children’s.

They suggested that he try writing to communicate if he had the strength and they promised him he would be okay. They would feed him with the feeding tube and give him fluids with the antibiotics. They would shuffle the antibiotics and in a perfect world he would be out of the ITU in a few days. It was just a hiccup, was all.

Luke fished paper out of his bag and a pen, keeping it near Michael’s right hand. Immediately, he grabbed the pen and put it to paper, scribbling out a message for Luke in God-awful chicken-scratch.

_Meds?_

Luke nodded. “I took my meds already, yeah,” he whispered and Michael tried to smile behind the BiPAP but knew Luke couldn’t see it and drew a sloppy happy face instead.

Luke giggled quietly. “You scared me.”

“You did,” Daryl said. “Your mum cried all the way here.”

“We had to switch drivers because it was your dad who was crying on the highway, not me,” Karen said, trying to lighten the mood.

Michael drew another happy face and let his eyes fall shut. They promised he would be okay but it really didn’t feel like it. It felt a lot more like this was it and he was going to die in the ITU and he wouldn’t make it to see Luke’s twentieth birthday.

He felt a hand in his hair coming from his left and he thought about how hard this must be for his parents. Watching their baby laid out in a hospital bed with endless amounts of tubes and a ventilator and a shaky prognosis. He couldn’t imagine anything worse for them.

He already hated this and he didn’t know how long it would last. His mouth was dry and he wanted ice chips and he wanted to not be hooked up to a mechanical ventilator and he wanted to go home and get his lung transplant. He wanted new lungs so he wouldn’t be here but he was too sick and he knew that the surgery would likely kill him.

“We’ll be right back, sweetheart,” Karen said, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Just grabbing some things for you and making a phone call.”

Michael nodded and opened his eyes to watch his parents leave. He closed his eyes once they were gone and squeezed Luke’s hand, feeling him raise it up and press his forehead to his hand. Wondering what was going on, he opened his eyes and saw Luke, eyes shut and holding onto Michael’s hand. Michael squeezed his hand again, asking what he was doing without words because he couldn’t talk and he couldn’t write with his dominant hand wrapped up in Luke’s.

“Amen,” Luke whispered, looking at him and forcing a smile.

Michael tried to smile behind the mask but it didn’t work.

“I love you,” Luke said, kissing his hand. “I love you and you’re going to be okay.”

Michael nodded to tell him he felt the same – but he was terrified and he couldn’t be sure if he would be okay. He felt trapped by his inability to speak and he wished he had done something more to make sure he didn’t get this stupid infection in the first place.

A nurse entered in patterned scrubs with teddy bears and stethoscopes. “I’m sorry, I have to do a quick check on Michael,” she said.

Luke nodded and stood, kissing Michael where the BiPAP did not obstruct his face. “I love you and I’ll see you later.”

He nodded and let the nurse take his obs. “Feeling any better?” She asked, getting a needle ready to test his arterial blood gases.

He shrugged and winced as she got the needle into his arm.

“I know, it sucks being ventilated, hey?”

He nodded and shut his eyes as she looked him over.

“Let me see if I can get the okay to give you some ice chips,” she said, smiling and standing with the needle full of his blood.

He nodded and shut his eyes as she left. He knew it would involve the BiPAP being taken off and seeing how his sats changed and if he was going to die before they could give him some ice chips. Maybe he would be stable enough to be moved to the CF ward and put on cannula and get things by mouth again.

His parents slipped in quickly, saying that they had to go, the doctors were making them leave, but first they gave him his favourite stuffed animal who spent every hospital visit with him. They told him they loved him before they left and then he was alone.

The ice chips went poorly – as soon as they removed the BiPAP he struggled to take a breath and they replaced it at once and gave him a drip so he wouldn’t get dehydrated. He would only feel thirsty and have a dry mouth but they couldn’t risk him dying from a lack of oxygen and they would have to make do with what they could.

At night, the nurses dimmed the lights in his room but it did nothing for the lights on all of his different machines. He slept horribly and by the time a doctor saw him again, confusion had set in. They replaced IVs and asked him yes or no questions but all he wanted to ask was what time it was and when he would be able to see Luke again.

Michael fell asleep but woke up when a nurse came in to check on him and asked about his pain level. He held up one finger because he wasn’t in pain except for the drip in his hand only a little bit and the discomfort of not breathing on his own. She gave him something for the discomfort, just a little, she promised, but it made him sleepy again.

When he woke up for the second time, Luke stood in the doorway and Michael tried to smile but his hand hurt. A three, not bad but annoying. He looked down to see his drip torn out, dripping liquid onto the bedsheets and his hand was bleeding.

“Look what you’ve done,” Luke said, not rushing to get a nurse and Michael looked up at him. “You fucked it up. Just like you fuck everything up.”

Michael would have whined if he could but his chest got tight and he recognized that he was going to cry.

“Your stupid fucking disease and your stupid fucking infections. They get in the way of everything. I hate it.”

Michael never heard Luke talk like that, never heard him so angry, especially about something he was so understanding about which was that Michael was sick and he would always be sick.

“The only reason I haven’t left you yet is because I feel sorry for you.”

Michael looked down at his hand which was bleeding worse now, because he had dug his nail into it and it hurt. A four.

“Do you really think I want to spend my time sitting next to you in a hospital? I’d rather be in my dorm studying and not fucking worrying about you but of course your parents called and wrecked everything. I wish Ashton had never introduced us.”

Michael inched towards the edge of the bed, getting his legs over. However, he forgot that he had an infection and he was weak. When he put weight on his legs and stood up, his legs gave out under him and he fell face first onto the tiled floor. Behind an alarm, he could hear Luke laughing.

 

Michael woke up back in bed and at a quick glance down at his hand, the drip was back in. Someone squeezed his right hand and he lolled his hand over to his right and forced his eyes open even though they were so heavy.

“Hey,” Karen said.

He focused on his mum and he once again wondered what time it was and he wondered if she knew that Luke was here earlier. He had a pad of paper on his lap and he pulled his hand away and reached for the pen.

Karen handed it to him and patted his upper arm gently while he scrawled on the page “Luke”.

“What about him, love? He’s okay. They won’t let him in again because he isn’t family. Sorry, love.”

Michael put pen to paper again: _Luke was here_.

She looked at him and shook her head. “You fell out of bed, sweetheart. He wasn’t here. He’s in the waiting room but he wasn’t allowed back here.”

Michael shut his eyes.

“Maybe you just had a nightmare.”

He shook his head. It was too real for that and he’d pulled out his drip.

“You pulled out your drip, too, so maybe you were just trying to get a nurse. They gave you something for the pain of the fall, too. You have to be careful, baby.”

Michael turned away from her and he thought that he just wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed. It wouldn’t be too hard to rent a BiPAP from them and he would be so much happier if he were at home and he could see Luke.

“Just try to rest. You have an infection and you have to rest.”

He grabbed the pen, opening his eyes, and wrote “HOME” on the paper.

“Love, you have to stay here. You’re sick and you just had a fall. You understand, don’t you? You’ve been in the hospital before, you understand this.”

It was never like this before, though. He had never fallen before, not that bad, and he had never had such a shaky prognosis and no expected discharge time.

Michael tried to stop the tears in his eyes but they kept coming and slid down his cheeks.

“Aw, love,” Karen said and rubbed his hand. “I’m sorry…”

Suddenly they’re sitting in the living room and Karen has her arm around him.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” she said, pressing a kiss to his hair and a quick glance up tells him that his hair is blond.

He looks down at his hand to where he got a papercut.

“Just a papercut, nothing a plaster can’t fix,” she soothed, rubbing his back.

Michael nodded and thought that he wanted to stay here where it was safe and he was home with his parents.

A nurse pushing a needle into his arm returned him to his hospital bed, a BiPAP on his face and tubes erupting from him in almost every place. He shut his eyes tight and felt tears slide down towards his ears. Needles didn’t bother him most of the time but they did now.

“Sorry, dear,” she said quietly. “How’s your pain? I’ll get you something for it if it’s bad.”

He held up two fingers. Mildly annoying, but he could deal with it.

“Okay… Well, call for me if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded and reached his hand up to wipe at his eyes around the BiPAP.

She left and Karen remained, sitting with him and giving him company. Grounding him in reality.

“How are you feeling?” Karen asked quietly.

Michael grabbed the pen. _I want to die_. He was horribly honest and he felt horrible telling his mum about it but it was how he felt. He’d like to see Luke one last time and then maybe he would take the BiPAP off right after a nurse checked on him and just wait until his sats decreased enough that he lost consciousness and hopefully didn’t get found until his heart stopped.

That… was how he was feeling and it was brutal and awful and he just wanted them to sedate him enough to sleep through the rest of his stay in the ICU.

“Michael,” Karen whispered and a quick glance told Michael that tears were welling up in her eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

He shut his eyes and maybe he could fall asleep before she said anything again.

“But you’re my little fighter and you can’t die on me,” she whispered. “You’re not allowed to die until you’re old and grey. You’ve got to stick around. You’re my baby and I need you and I love you so much.”

He couldn’t listen anymore and he shook his head.

“Would seeing Luke help?” She asked quietly.

He nodded.

“Okay. I’ll talk to your doctor.”

She stood up and left and Michael was alone. He wished he could breathe on his own, he wished he could try the various breathing techniques that he knew helped put him to sleep. He wished he were in his own bed instead of this bed that was made to prevent against bed-sores. He wished and wished and he could clack his heels all he wanted but there was no leaving Kansas today and there was nowhere over the rainbow for him to go until his lungs could get their shit together.

Maybe he should have taken his doctors advice when he took gentamicin for the first time and maybe he should have learned sign language. At least that way he wouldn’t feel so fucking trapped.

Michael didn’t know how much time elapsed between his mum standing and Luke coming in, fresh tears in his eyes, but it felt like an eternity and with each passing second Michael wished that he was home.

“Mikey,” Luke said, going over to him and trying hard to keep his voice and face under control. But his face turned just so and he sat down on the edge of the bed and took Michael’s hand.

Michael squeezed his hand hard because there was nothing else he could really do.

“You can’t die, Mikey,” he whispered, voice thick with the effort of holding back tears. “You can’t. I love you too much. And – and you have to come back to school. You promised me you would come back to school and even though we won’t graduate together… you promised.”

Michael held onto his hand and wished that he had the energy or the power to scoot over and let Luke lay with him until a nurse caught them and warned them that Luke would be banned.

“You have to stay alive.”

With his other hand, Michael reached up and guided Luke down so that they were sort of cuddling. Luke was used to the wires and things, he knew, so it would have been okay without the BiPAP obstructing his ability to talk and kiss and express himself.

Luke sniffled and pressed his face into Michael’s shoulder. “You’re going to get out of here,” he whispered. “And you’ll get new lungs and things will be better. And maybe one day we’ll move in together. You know, we went on our first date a year ago next week.”

Michael leaned down so his head was against Luke’s and he felt better. It was almost like he could understand him, even if he couldn’t talk, and Michael tried to forget about how awful he felt and how it really, really felt like the end.

“I love you,” Luke whispered.

Michael nodded to say he loved him, too, but he couldn’t.

“Don’t give up, okay?” He whispered. “I still expect you to be there for my twentieth birthday and when my brothers get married. And when Ash and Calum get married, you’re my date and you have to be there.”

Luke had these ideas of the future that Michael wanted to be a part of. Of course he wanted to be there when Ashton and Calum eventually got married and both of them cried like idiots at the altar and Luke and Michael danced together and thought about when it would be their turn. It was so pleasant compared to what happened earlier that he thought he might just curl up in that image and live there until he was out of the ITU.

Luke brushed at his available hair and sighed quietly, almost imperceptible above the noise of the BiPAP. “What colour will you do next? Maybe we could make this awful room into a makeshift salon, get your hair bleached and dyed and then you’ll feel better. You always fret when your roots show but I like them.”

Michael tried to smile behind the BiPAP mask. He reached over and pointed at the red on Luke’s shirt.

“That’ll look great,” Luke said with a smile. “Maybe your nurses will take up calling you Red.”

He shut his eyes and tried to snuggle further into Luke’s grip. Maybe he could fall asleep like this and wake up when he was able to breathe on his own and not in ITU.

“I think you’re going to be just fine, love,” Luke said. “You’re just in a rut and you feel like shit but you’re going to be okay.”

He was not fine, however.

Over the next few weeks in the ITU, Michael saw less and less of his parents and Luke, especially. He tore out his NG tube, which was really the only thing nourishing him since he could only eat very little by mouth and at one point ripped the hose out of the BiPAP. He was physically restrained after that specific point until they were certain he wouldn’t do it again.

He saw things, too, and his handwriting deteriorated enough that he couldn’t communicate and ask other people about these things but they were horrible. His parents screaming at each other, Luke being robbed at gunpoint, Ashton being chased by fire.

But slowly, slowly, things began to heal and the antibiotics finally got the infection under control and his lungs began to recover. He was moved to the CF ward once he finally got a bit better and although he couldn’t breathe completely on his own, having nasal cannula was better than having a BiPAP strapped to his face.

Deidre helped him into the bedside chair and frowned. “You’ve lost weight, dear,” she said.

He nodded, still not sure if he could talk after weeks of silence, but coughing did him some good.

“Now, we’ve got to get something nice and refreshing for you. We’ve got ice chips, Hawaiian punch flavour, or I’ve got an ice lolly saved for this very occasion.”

He smiled and held up two fingers for the ice lolly. She supervised him and helped him when it fell apart at the end, but it felt so good to have something cold and sweet on his tongue that he didn’t even mind when she wiped his chin.

“Your parents will be here soon and so will that cute boyfriend of yours,” she said, going over and opening the curtains to his room and letting the late-fall sunshine stream in.

“Luke?” Michael asked, voice rough from the lack of talking he’d done.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Want to come get some sun? Being cooped up in the ITU is the worst.”

He nodded and she helped him into a wheelchair before parking him in front of the window. “Can I open the window?” He asked.

She nodded and opened it for him, letting the breeze in and he could smell the ocean air and the hint of autumn in the leaves, asking him to come outside.

“Thanks,” he said, coughing hard and deep. It felt nice after being deprived of coughing for the BiPAP.

“Of course, dear,” she smiled. “And get all that gunk out. We’ll get you some PT soon and your parents are bringing your vest so be prepared to have shiny, clean lungs.”

He smiled and sat with the sun on his lap and his face. Glancing down at his arms, still hooked up to a drip and his port still accessed, he realized that he’d gotten much thinner than before and he looked up at Deidre, her lilac hair loose around her face.

“Am I still too sick to be on the list?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “But, now that you’re off round-the-clock ventilation, you can take up eating again and that means we’re going to get you some of the most calorie-rich foods we can think of and you’ll bulk up in no time. You’ve got your NG tube and now you can eat lots more things. You’ll be back on the list before you know it.”

He nodded. “Promise?” He asked her. She wasn’t the kind of nurse to bullshit him into thinking that he would be okay when she knew that he wouldn’t.

“I promise and you’d best believe it, Michael,” Deidre said. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

He smiled and looked up as his parents walked in. Daryl immediately came over and wrapped his arms around Michael, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s good to see you feeling better, Michael,” he said quietly, ruffling his hair (which felt dirty, greasy and flat from all his hours of just laying on it.

He smiled up at him. “Hi, dad,” he said, thinking about how he was going to get a visit from the physio later and he would have to stand up and walk around a few times.

Daryl beamed and kissed his forehead – scratchy from his stubble in one of the best ways.

“I’m going to get Dr. Raymond while you guys have a nice catch-up,” Deidre said as Michael’s parents sat down around him.

He told them everything about what he saw and they confirmed that it wasn’t real, that it didn’t happen and that everyone was okay. When Dr. Raymond came in, they jumped on her with this, making Michael feel steadily more embarrassed, and she nodded.

“It often happens to patients in the ITU,” she explained. “An antiquated term for it is ITU psychosis but nowadays we simply call it delirium. It generally happens when a patient is taken out of their normal, every day life and put into a situation similar to Michael’s where their sleep is interrupted, they can’t communicate and they aren’t oriented to the date and time. It generally disappears as soon as the person is out of the ITU and reoriented, as seems to be the case here. However, seeing as some of those hallucinations were particularly vivid and disturbing, I’ll see to it that Michael gets counselling.”

Michael nodded and hoped that he could get back on the waiting list soon.

“Anyway,” Dr. Raymond said with a smile. “I’m glad to see Michael breathing mostly on his own and speaking again. There was quite a bit of loss of muscle tone and body weight so we’re going to get you started on physio again as soon as possible so that you can be as ready for those new lungs as possible, okay? And we’re going to work on getting your weight back up and your body in better shape. The antibiotics are working their magic on that infection, but you aren’t quite out of the woods yet.”

“Can I go home soon?” Michael asked sheepishly.

“My best bet for your discharge would be next week,” she said. “But that isn’t too far away, so don’t fret, all right, love?”

He smiled. He could make it another week just fine, really. Dr. Raymond left with some instructions to eat, dammit, and Michael was allowed to change into pajamas with the help of his parents. Standing up for the first time in weeks was really odd, but his parents helped him before he settled back into the wheelchair and sat in front of the window.

It was nice to see the sky and the cars down below, way, way below him, carrying people who didn’t know about him or what he had gone through.

His parents both got up, said something about getting him some Macca’s, and disappeared. He didn’t want to be alone and he nearly asked one of them to come back because it really wasn’t hard to remember his favourite order from McDonald’s and he wanted to spend time with his parents.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Michael called, voice weak.

The door opened a creak and he could hear giggling behind it. He hoped this wasn’t some awful prank that the nurses and his parents had created (he really wanted a Big Mac).

Luke, Ashton and Calum tumbled in with balloons and fake flowers, fighting over who got to hold what.

“I should get the biggest balloon and the best flowers, I’m his boyfriend,” Luke said.

“Well, I introduced the two of you!” Ashton argued.

“I’m Switzerland and I refuse to be a part of this anymore,” Calum said.

Michael couldn’t help but laugh and he figured that this part was definitely orchestrated for his benefit, so that he didn’t have to suffer anymore and he could have a laugh instead of focus on getting better for once in his life.

“You guys, just put it down,” he said around a laugh which soon turned into a cough. “It doesn’t matter who holds what.”

Luke took the balloon over to him and kissed his cheek. “How are you?” He asked, tying it to the wheelchair. It would be nice to go down the hall with a balloon on his chair.

“I’m doing better,” Michael said and he hardly had time to expand on that thought before Luke kissed him full on the mouth and he thought about how, a year ago, they were in the opening stages of their relationship, just figuring things out, and there was so much they didn’t know about each other.

Luke pulled away with a giggle and touched Michael’s jaw gently, tracing up to his lips and his nose. “I’m so glad to see your face again,” he whispered.

Michael laughed as he nudged the cannula and leaned over to kiss him while Calum made over-the-top gagging sounds. “I love you so much.”

Luke grinned and sat down next to him. “I love you, too. And I am so glad to hear your voice.”

He smiled and held onto his hand tight.

Calum and Ashton fussed over the placement of the flowers and balloons. “No, no, those are sun-loving flowers, they have to go in the sun,” Ashton said.

“Ash, I hate to break it to you, but these are fake fucking flowers,” Calum deadpanned.

“Yeah, but they should still go in the sun.”

Calum rolled his eyes and set the balloons down where Michael would be able to see them from his bed. “So, when do you go home?”

“As soon as they confirm that I can put on weight,” Michael chuckled. After he pulled his NG tube out in delirium, they weren’t able to replace it because Michael was too sedated to swallow and they were worried it would end up in his lungs somehow and then he would get pneumonia and die. Fun stuff.

“That sucks,” Calum said. “But we’ll be by here every day possible because we’re finally allowed to visit you.”

Michael smiled. “I’m really glad,” he said.

His parents returned with a Big Mac and a Chicken McNugget happy meal with a honey mustard dipping sauce. It was fantastic and by the end of it, he was in a bit of a food coma and laid down to nap, curled up with Luke.

After his nap, he got his NG tube replaced and he walked around with the physio for a while, around the room and he tried to get his muscle tone back. His parents also helped him into sweats and his Taylor Swift t-shirt, which felt weird getting that much help getting changed, but it was for the best so he didn’t fall over and hit his head or something. It felt good to be in his own clothes, even though it felt like they were mostly draped over him since he’d lost some weight.

(Okay, they hadn’t measured him yet and he really hadn’t lost that much weight but not eating for a week or so definitely took its toll.)

He was allowed to shower that evening when they were certain that he could stand for a small length of time and although he didn’t get to wash his hair, he felt much better afterwards. His parents left at ten when they were told Michael had to go to bed, which sucked, but it was nice having lights-out instead of his lights being dimmed.

He got into the BiPAP and settled down to bed, attached to far fewer machines than he was in the ITU and it felt nice. He was okay again, he told himself as he drifted off. It would take a lot of work to get better but he had to do it if he wanted to live.

Michael woke up in a cold sweat, the lights still out and the window still illuminated orange from the streetlights outside. It was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. Luke wasn’t being tortured. He was in his hospital room, not stuck by a two-way mirror watching Luke be cut and whipped and beaten.

He was okay, he told himself, but he still pressed the button to call for a nurse and within a minute, the door opened and someone turned the light on. Lainey, with her cropped black hair and a pleasant smile.

“Everything okay?” She asked, checking all of his machines.

Michael slid the BiPAP off. “Nightmare,” he whispered.

She nodded. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Just… I had nightmares and hallucinations in the ICU and I want it to stop,” he admitted.

“Something to help you sleep might alleviate dreaming tonight,” she said.

“Okay,” he said.

“But,” she said. “I’m worried that a sleeping pill will just make the delirium worse in the morning and will get you in that downward spiral again.”

Michael looked down at his hands and thought that he didn’t want to go back there and he didn’t want to go back to sleep for fear that he would just have another bad dream and see something bad happening to his boyfriend.

“Taking that risk is completely up to you,” Lainey said and Michael thought of all the times when he was little and he called his parents in because he had a nightmare. This felt like that – her soft, soothing voice, the BiPAP still breathing in the background and her hand warm on his.

“In your medical opinion?” Michael asked.

“I would say no,” she said. “Your brain is still a little sick and adding this drug might exacerbate that. I can stay with you until you’re asleep, if you’d like. Tell you about all the pop culture you missed while you were cooped up in the ITU.”

Michael smiled a little. “I don’t think I’d be able to hear you over the BiPAP,” he said.

She smiled and chuckled. “Well, your parents left some books for you so you could always read to go to sleep.”

He shrugged and sighed.

“No matter what, you need that BiPAP back on,” she said.

He sighed and slid it back on and reminded himself to relax and let the BiPAP breathe for him.

“Okay,” she said, touching his hand. “Just relax and get to sleep.”

He pulled the blankets up around him and Lainey fixed the strap around his head. It felt nice and he shut his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think with comments, kudos and if you have any worries, feel free to come chat on [ my tumblr!](mochalou.tumblr.com)


	13. Chapter 13

Michael stayed in the CF ward for two weeks before they were certain he was able to gain weight and he wasn’t literally dying. They got him a BiPAP for sleeping and he had nasal cannula for the rest of the time and he felt just as sick as he looked but being home was great because he had a chance to re-dye his hair a bright, bright red.

He was a professional sick person and spent his days trying to gain weight and keep himself healthy so he wouldn’t get caught up in the ITU again. He had a two-week gap at home before he checked back in at St. Vincent’s and they made sure that his last infection wasn’t mycobacterium come back to bite him in the ass and also to see if he was healthy enough to get a transplant.

At his appointment, he had blood drawn, sputum samples taken and he was weighed again. Even though he was still underweight, he was placed back on the transplant list and the priority list because, after that infection, they were worried that the window to get him new lungs was getting smaller and smaller and no one wanted him to die before he got a second chance at life.

Michael, in celebration, ate pizza and cake and then slept for twelve hours. He woke up in the morning and took the BiPAP off and took a big breath on his own. He couldn’t wait to breathe without chest pain or without mucus in his lungs and he glanced at his phone, just in case he missed a call from the transplant coordinator.

He did his treatments and then he got up out of bed with his cannula in place and went into the kitchen to find something to eat. He could make pancakes, he guessed, since they had pancake mix and he figured why the fuck not. He could make pancakes, it wasn’t hard, especially with mix.

The doorbell rang and Michael flinched and then glared at the door. It was probably the mailman dropping off a package or something and he went back to fishing the pancake mix out of the cupboard. The doorbell rang again and he sighed, heading over to the front door and he really hoped it wasn’t some religious sect trying to convert him because he was hungry and he needed to eat to take his meds.

The doorbell rang for a third time and he rolled his eyes as he unlocked the deadbolt and opened it. Luke stood there and smiled.

“Good morning!” He said, holding a box with one of his hands and Michael laughed.

“What the fuck? How did you get here? It’s like…” he glanced around for the time.

“Almost eleven in the morning,” Luke said with a giggle. “Now let me in, it’s cold.”

Michael let him inside and took the box from him. “What’s in here?”

“Cinnamon rolls, fresh and homemade from the one and only Liz Hemmings for you.”

Michael smiled and opened the box. “Those smell amazing,” he said. “I was going to make pancakes but this might be a better breakfast.”

“Or both,” Luke suggested with a grin.

“Both? I think I’d have a heart attack before I got my lung transplant.”

“No, you’d be fine,” Luke laughed and kissed his cheek.

Michael smiled and took the cinnamon rolls to the kitchen, getting plates and forks as well as two glasses of milk to go with the breakfast. “Why’d you decide to skip school and come here?”

Luke snorted as he sat at the table. “My class was cancelled, I’ll have you know,” he said. “And mum made these last night and wanted me to bring them to you.”

“Well, you should let her know that I said thank you,” he said. “And that I love her.”

“I will,” he said as he took a bite of the cinnamon roll.

Michael took a bite as well and hummed. “These are so good,” he said.

Luke nodded. “So good, right? I love them.”

Michael sipped his milk and bit into the pastry again and some flaked off onto the plate. He managed to swallow that mouthful before he coughed, his weak lungs making themselves even weaker, really.

Luke frowned and Michael tried to ignore it because he was tired of being sick and he needed to get that lung transplant and he needed it now.

“Sure you’re okay?” Luke asked as Michael stopped coughing and felt his chest twinge.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking another bite of the cinnamon roll.

They finished the box of cinnamon rolls before they went to the couch and Michael put his head in Luke’s lap while some Nick Cage movie played on the TV. Michael was sleepy and thought that he could probably nap and he knew that Luke wouldn’t wake him but he wanted to experience life and really live for once but… he also wanted to sleep until his phone rang with the right phone call.

“Your phone is buzzing,” Luke said, brushing at his hair.

“Can you get it?” Michael asked, sighing and thinking that sitting up and reaching to get it would be _so_ much work.

Luke reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. “Unknown number.”

Michael reached for it and Luke handed it to him as it vibrated. He clicked to answer it and put it to his ear, “Hello?”

“Hello, Michael, how are you doing?” A woman asked.

Michael perked up immediately, connecting her voice to previous phone calls. “I’m doing good.”

“Yeah? Any recent infections or illnesses?”

“No,” Michael said.

The questions continued and Michael answered them until she hummed and said, “Okay, well, I think we’ve got a pair of lungs for you.”

Michael nodded. His hope wasn’t too high on getting new lungs after the two last false alarms but then again, third time was the charm.

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah,” Michael replied.

“We’ll send an ambulance right away for you, then.”

Luke brushed through his hair, calmly, and Michael thought about how he was sleepy and he would be able to sleep on the drive to the hospital and then the drive home. He just had to call his parents and cause that massive bump in their workday before he could sleep.

“What was it about?” Luke asked.

“Probably another false alarm for new lungs,” Michael said, sitting up and thinking he should get his bag and pack the other essentials.

“Oh my God!” Luke said, standing. “Let me get your bag. What else do you need?”

“The stuffed lion on my bed,” Michael said, coughing and making sure he had enough oxygen for the ambulance trip.

“Okay, anything else?”

Michael rattled off the small list before he called his parents, Karen first, to let them know and to screw up their entire day. Of course, they both jumped in their cars and began the trip to the hospital after they spoke to their co-workers and bosses and Michael mostly already felt tired until he got into the ambulance with Luke and then a small part of him wondered, _is this it?_

He held onto Luke’s hand on the all-too-familiar drive into Sydney proper and glanced over at him. “Aren’t you glad your class was cancelled today, huh?”

Luke chuckled. “Yeah. I would have run out of there so fast and left all my stuff.”

“Nah, you’re too organized. You’d at least remember your backpack.”

“You’re right,” Luke smiled and squeezed his hand. “But I’d have been there too fast, before you were even there.”

Michael laughed and wondered if they would give Luke shit for crowding up the waiting room in the transplant ward. He coughed into his arm and he watched the paramedic in the back check his oxygen tank and the cannula’s connection to it. She gave him a quick smile and checked her phone. That was probably the nice thing about being one of the paramedics given this job, the break that the paramedics got.

They arrived at the hospital and Michael was immediately whisked away for a full assessment before the possible operation. He guessed that, while he was getting an x-ray, Luke fielded his parents because they both arrived at some point and when he returned for the blood tests, they both bearhugged him.

Michael got through the tests before he was asked to shower with some antiseptic scrub (which smelled like _clean_ and nothing else) before he changed into a hospital robe he tied up in the back to hide his actual ass because they asked him to wear the gown and nothing else.

Once he was in the gown, it started to feel very, very real and his hands began to shake in anticipation of what might actually be happening.

They took him to wait in front of the operating theatre while they waited on news of the condition of the lungs at a different hospital. He knew nothing of the lungs or the donor and it became a waiting-game seeing as Michael was cleared for operation.

Luke, who was allowed to stay with him until he was moved into the anaesthetic area, where only his mum would be allowed with him while he fell asleep, squeezed his hand. “You doing okay?” He asked quietly.

Michael nodded, swallowing. “Yeah… Yeah, just… ready for this, you know?” He glanced over at Luke, knowing that he looked fucking terrified.

“I know,” Luke smiled, holding his hand tight.

“If it’s a false alarm, this is so fucking cruel,” Michael mumbled and sighed, leaning into him. Part of him was trying to cling onto the reality of what was going on, that he was going to get new lungs, but another part nagged that this was a third false alarm.

“It won’t be,” Luke said, brushing a hand through his hair. “Third time lucky, right?”

Michael smiled a little and nodded, something telling him that maybe this wasn’t it and maybe it wasn’t going to happen and he would end up in the ITU again, on life support, and never get the life-saving operation.

It was a gruelling, two hour wait before they heard from the retrieval team at Sydney Hospital. They played a few games of chess in pairs on Luke’s phone before the coordinator came up to where they were, hunched over the phone as they anticipated the next move.

Michael looked up at her and immediately sat up straighter, heart pounding in his chest. This might be it.

“I have bad news and good news,” she said and Michael’s heart plummeted. This wasn’t it.

“Bad news first,” he requested.

“Bad news is you have to say goodbye to your dad and Luke now,” she said.

Michael perked up again and everyone in the room collectively held their breath.

“The good news is that the lungs are healthy and suitable for transplant.”

Michael let his breath out and he looked at his parents, Daryl gripping Karen’s hand as his eyes welled up with tears. Luke reached over and hugged him.

“So we’re going to take you into the anaesthesia room just as soon as you’ve said goodbye.”

Michael nodded and Daryl came over, wrapping his arms around him and kissing the top of his head.

“I love you, dear,” he whispered. “You’re going to do great.”

“I love you, too, dad,” Michael murmured.

Daryl pulled away and wiped at his eyes, smiling tearfully as he sat back down and he turned to Luke, who smiled widely and kissed him. Michael kissed him back and looked at the time when he pulled away. A double lung transplant lasted anywhere from seven to twelve hours and it was six in the evening. Anywhere from one in the morning to six in the morning. It would be a long night for his loved ones.

“I love you,” Luke smiled and watched him. “And I’ll pray for you all night, okay?”

“I love you, too,” Michael whispered before he kissed Luke again, thinking that this might be the last kiss he ever experienced and that he might die on the table and he might not make it through the transplant and that there were so many ways he could get hurt or die.

They wheeled him into the anaesthetic room with Karen by his side, holding onto his hand while they placed a line in his hand and told him to tell Karen that he would see her later and that he loved her. He did and Karen sang him a lullaby while they put a mask over his mouth and asked him to count backwards from ten. The air smelled like vanilla and he only made it to seven.

 

Luke sat in the waiting room next to Michael’s parents. They had calmed down since they were told the lungs were suitable for transplant, all of them overcome with the fact that Michael was finally getting what he needed. Luke leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head resting in his hands as he prayed that Michael would be okay, that he would survive and thrive and that his lungs would never bother him again.

He looked at the time, a clock ticking up on the wall, and he sighed when he saw that it was only eight. Two hours into a possible twelve-hour surgery and he knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight. But tomorrow, he would sleep when he knew Michael was okay.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and thought that he should probably call his mum to let her know he wouldn’t be home tonight. He stood up and glanced at Michael’s parents, both holding magazines that they weren’t really reading.

“I’ll be back,” Luke said.

They told him to come back safe and he found his way out of the hospital and into the cool, dark air. He walked for a while, trying to get his nerves down before he called his mum or else she would worry endlessly about him. He found a bench, in memory of someone, and he sat down underneath the orange light of a streetlamp. Someone approached, out of reach of the streetlamp and only visible because of their cigarette glowing as they took a drag.

Luke looked at his phone and called his mum, telling her that he wouldn’t be home tonight.

“Oh, are you staying with Michael?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Well. Sort of. We’re at the hospital. Michael is getting his transplant.”

“Really? Oh my God!”

Luke smiled. “I know,” he whispered. “So. I’m going to be at the hospital for a while.”

“Absolutely, dear.”

He spoke with his mum before he called Ashton and sat through the ringing, agonizingly long.

“Hello?” Ashton asked, answering the phone on one of the last rings. “Oh, Luke. What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, hey, Ash,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said. “Doing homework and eating cold pizza from the cafeteria. What about you?”

“Hanging out at the hospital,” Luke said and he knew that Ashton would understand; Ashton experienced life with Michael before and the amount of time he spent in the hospital being watched and pumped full of antibiotics to stop his body from literally dying.

“Hmm, yeah. Everything okay?” Of course, after the ITU scare last month, everyone was on edge about Michael being in the hospital.

“He’s in surgery, Ash,” Luke whispered. “He… he got his call. He’s getting new lungs.”

“What?! Why didn’t you call me? Holy shit! Fuck, St. Vincent’s, right? Christ, holy fucking Christ. I’ll be there soon. Am I allowed in?”

“Well, if I am, then yeah,” Luke reasoned. “He’s only been in for two hours so you’ll probably miss your eight AM class, just to warn you.”

“Yeah, but one of my best friends is getting a double lung transplant,” Ashton said. “Jesus Christ. Can you call Calum for me? I’ll be driving in like, ten seconds.”

Luke could hear Ashton jangling his keys, slamming his dorm room door behind him and fumbling to lock it. “Absolutely. Drive safe, okay?”

“Yep, always,” Ashton said. “Love you, see you soon.”

The call with Calum went approximately the same except Calum would not be there in fifteen minutes, but in another hour, even though Luke told him that there was no reason to be here quickly. It would take until the wee hours of the night and thinking about it already made Luke feel tired down to his damn bones.

Luke made his way back up to the waiting room, signing back in on the little sign-in board they had up and he walked back in to see Karen leaned against Daryl, holding his hand and trying to sleep.

Daryl looked up at him. “They came in to let us know that they’ve successfully removed one of his lungs,” he said quietly and Luke let out his breath. “And they put him on – uh, cardiopulmonary bypass. Insufficient oxygen and all.”

Luke nodded and sat back down across from him, putting his head in his hands. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Daryl said, forcing a small smile. “He’s such a fighter. He’ll do fine.”

Luke pulled his head up and looked down at his hands, rubbing them together and thinking of everything that could go wrong.

“He got through that lung failure episode,” Daryl mumbled. “If he can survive that, he can survive anything.”

Luke let his breath out and nodded. “I called Ashton and Calum. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Ashton took such good care of him and Calum is one of his best friends. They’re both welcome.”

Luke smiled a little, thankful that he wouldn’t ask them to leave for fear of having too many people around and keeping up appearances and everything. (Which, of course, led to him wondering why it was seen as rude or not right to show emotion in front of a visitor or stranger.)

“You know, he didn’t have that many friends in high school,” Daryl admitted on behalf of Michael and Luke glanced up from his hands. “He… his friends thought he was somehow a flake for not being able to do things. They refused to do things that Michael could join in on, like having a bonfire and the smoke would basically make him pass out but he was so desperate to fit in that he went anyway…”

Luke sighed.

“He couldn’t even attend all of his school’s graduation party because he had an infection. I wouldn’t trade him for the world but sometimes I wish he didn’t have CF and that there was a cure and that lungs were more readily available for people who needed them…” Daryl sighed and rubbed over his face. “Sorry. I just want you to know that we really appreciate you being a part of his life. I don’t think he would have survived that last nasty infection without you by his side.”

“He would have. Like you said, he’s such a fighter,” Luke said.

“I think you’ve given him a real push to fight even harder,” Daryl mumbled. “And you’re a true… a true blessing in our lives.”

“Thank you,” Luke whispered, but it didn’t feel like enough. Somehow, though, he guessed that Daryl knew.


	14. Chapter 14

It took nine hours from start to finish to remove Michael’s lungs and replace them with a new pair of lungs and put everything back together. At the end of nine hours, they were told that Michael would need a few hours to recover before he could field any visitors but seeing as it was five in the morning, Ashton and Calum left some cards and went back to Ashton’s dorm in a cab. Luke was determined to stay until Michael woke up, just to confirm that he was alive, even though he kept finding himself drowsing and fading into sleep.

At six, they were told they could come and see Michael in his room in the ITU and walking back there brought back memories of last time, when Michael cried and asked for them to let him go. Michael laid on the bed, a line in his neck and various other tubes erupting from somewhere on his body and so many monitors around him that it made Luke dizzy to look at all of it. His parents sat down next to him in the chairs that the nurses had brought in so that everyone could potentially get some rest.

Luke squeezed Michael’s hand and leaned down past the intubated ventilator to kiss his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered before he headed over to the couch by the window and laid down, pulling his sweater over himself as he drifted off to sleep next to Michael.

He woke up at eleven when the nurses came in to check on things and he rubbed at his eyes, sitting up and moving the hoodie off of himself. He hadn’t showered yet and he wanted to go to bed, his own bed at home or at least his dorm room because he was fucking exhausted and Michael wasn’t awake yet. His parents were still asleep in their chair-beds and Luke watched the nurses check on Michael, who looked strange as always with a tube down his throat and all of the tubes and wires in him.

“Is he waking up?” Luke asked quietly.

The nurse turned to look at him and shook her head. “No, not yet,” she said. “The anaesthetic they gave him was pretty strong to keep him completely knocked out. My bet is that he won’t wake up for another hour or so.”

Luke nodded and he figured that an hour wasn’t too short that he couldn’t go out and pick up some breakfast. The nurses left and he wrote Michael’s parents a note explaining that he would get breakfast and coffee after he showered and changed his clothes.

He went home quickly and almost lingered after he sat down on his bed and felt the pull of exhaustion but he wanted to get back to Michael and a coffee would wake him up. He picked up pancakes and bacon for breakfast as well as three giant lattes, one with two extra shots just so he had a chance at staying awake for more than two hours. He returned with the food to Michael’s hospital room, where he was still passed out on the bed.

The three of them ate together and sipped on their lattes, their eyes focused on Michael even though they had the tiny TV in the corner on and playing some soap opera that Luke would probably get too invested in if he paid more attention. The latte woke him up, but not without jitters, he noticed as he watched his hand shudder in his lap and he hoped nothing would go wrong lest the coffee lead to a panic attack. At least he was at a hospital and they could help him if he panicked.

Michael slowly began to open his eyes and Karen immediately called for a nurse as she took his hand and everyone moved to the edge of their chair. A nurse came in and checked everything and helped lift the bed up so Michael was vaguely sitting as he woke up.

“Hello and good morning, Michael,” she said and Michael motioned vaguely to his mouth. “Any discomfort?”

He pointed away from his mouth, voice obstructed by the ventilator.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We just need to make sure that you’re breathing. Pain, one to ten?”

Michael held up his index and thumb together, a zero.

She chuckled. “Yeah, you’re on a lot of drugs right now,” she said. “The doctor is on her way and she’ll check you out and we’ll see about getting that ventilator removed.”

Michael got looked over and assessed almost a thousand times before they removed the ventilator and was allowed to suck on water-soaked sponges to refresh his mouth.

Luke had a hand placed on Michael’s thigh, mostly away from the wires and tubes and monitors while Michael sucked on one of the sponges, shutting his eyes.

“How do you feel?” Daryl asked and Michael held up a thumb.

“Feel good,” he whispered, his voice tiny and high-pitched.

All three of them laughed and Michael glared playfully at them.

“Your voice is ridiculous,” Luke giggled, leaning up and kissing his cheek away from the NG tube and the central line stuck in his neck.

“ _Your voice is ridiculous_ ,” Michael mocked, despite the fact that his voice was still tiny and high.

The doctor returned, assuring them that Michael’s complete lack of voice was due to how recent the surgery was and how the lungs were currently still filled with fluid, which is why they had drains in, but that his voice would return to normal in the coming days. “Anything else I can get for you?” She asked.

“I want tea,” Michael demanded.

“Milk and sugar?” She asked, grinning.

He nodded, face completely serious, and the doctor nodded.

“Absolutely. I’ll get you some tea right away.”

A nurse came by with tea and sugar and milk on the side and Michael put it together before he held it in his hands and smiled pleasantly.

“I love you,” Luke whispered and Michael smiled a little bigger, looking tired and pale but happy beyond belief.

“I love you more,” Michael said, taking a sip of his tea before wincing. “Nope, that’s too fucking hot.”

Luke laughed and stood. “I have to go home,” he said quietly. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Michael nodded. “Go and get some sleep. I’ll be here. Sleeping.”

“Have a good night and call me if you want me to come, okay? Even if it’s four in the morning, I’ll get my ass over here.”

Michael scoffed. “You think nothing of me. I’m big and strong, I can do this.”

“I think you’re a little high,” Luke giggled. “But sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Luke said goodbye to Daryl and Karen before checking out of the room and going home to sleep like the dead.

 

Michael spent that evening in the ITU, still weaning off heavy sedation and fighting the side effects of the epidural painkillers he was receiving. In the morning, he was taken to the transplant ward, which had no strict visitor’s schedule and he had his own room with an en-suite bathroom. It was bigger than his dorm room at USyd.

Ashton visited later in the morning, carrying a large cup of coffee and taking a seat next to the bed. “This room is fucking bigger than my dorm,” he said, taking a sip of coffee and wincing. “I also fucking hate coffee. But it’s good to see you awake and with new lungs.”

“Thanks,” Michael smiled, his voice returned mostly to normal. He sucked in a deep breath, obstructed by the drains in his chest and the needle in his neck, but it felt good and his lungs didn’t feel saggy and tired and full of infection and mucus. Now only if CF could be cured, he’d be great.

Ashton smiled. “Do you have a cool scar now that you’ll like, get to display on the beach and stuff?”

Michael shrugged. “I’ll have a cool scar, right now I have a big nasty incision that’s got a fuck-tonne of stitches and shit in it.”

“Good visual,” Ashton deadpanned.

Michael reached up and clicked open his hospital gown where it closed at the shoulder and let one side fall, revealing his nipple and then the dressing underneath that, as well as some of the drains in his chest. “Well, there it is but it’s very hidden right now and I’d rather not undress it,” he said. “I’ve had enough infections to last a few lifetimes.”

“Jesus Christ, why are there needles in your chest?” Ashton asked.

“To drain fluid and air and stuff so I can actually, properly breathe mostly on my own.”

“That sounds like true hell,” he said. “I’m sorry that you have all this kind of stuff to deal with…”

He shrugged. “I’d rather deal with this than deal with all the mucus and infections and shit.”

“That’s also true,” Ashton chuckled, sipping his coffee again.

Ashton stayed when the physio came in and started Michael moving since the transplant, trying to regain strength and make sure that he still could physically move and everything. It was easier than pre-transplant physio, only made difficult by the amount of tubes stuck into his body and all the nurses required to keep them untangled.

It was a boring life in the hospital, for the most part, since there was nothing significant going on in his life to warrant deep conversation except for the lung transplant and he was on so many drugs that he slept most of the time and missed the best parts of visits with his friends and family. But sleeping healed and his doctors encouraged it, though they did make sure that he retained full mental function through many little tests.

“You sleep so much it’s a wonder you sleep at night,” Luke mumbled that night, holding his hand tight as he began to doze beside Michael.

“Getting your lungs forcefully ripped out is stressful and sleeping helps, I guess,” Michael shrugged, squeezing his hand and playing with his fingers. He looked at the hangnails, the short nails that showed some signs of picking and biting and wear and tear from anxiety.

Luke smiled, shutting his eyes and leaning his head against the bedrail, comfortable only with the addition of a pillow for Luke to rest on. “I guess so,” he said. “Our one year is in two weeks.”

“Your birthday, too,” he whispered, wishing that he could let Luke climb into bed with him and snuggle up. The wires and tubes made that impossible and unsafe without the supervision of a thousand nurses and then there would be the issue of Luke moving around and possibly tugging them out overnight.

“Oh, right,” Luke yawned and Michael reached with his free hand to brush a hand through his hair. “I’ll be twenty years old. Christ.”

“We’ll have been dating officially for a year.”

“Yeah, well, I loved you a year ago and I will be very happy to spend our one year anniversary on the two-week mark of your transplant.”

Michael smiled. “You’re a dumbass,” he said.

“Ouch, rude. I take it back, I don’t love you anymore.”

Michael chuckled. “Go to sleep.”

“I want to be beside you.”

“You are,” he said, watching Luke stretch like a cat, arching his back and trying to find comfort while leaning forward and essentially folding himself in half.

“Not the right way, though,” Luke said, looking at him with his red-rimmed blue eyes. Tired. Exhausted. He stayed up all night last night while Michael was in the most important surgery of his entire life, unconscious and dead to the world.

“Go to the couch. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Even though you definitely have class tomorrow and you should not skip because of me.”

Luke pouted. “What if you die?” He mumbled.

Michael laughed. “I will not die and I promise you that. I’ll text you all the time so you know I’m alive.”

“Fine,” Luke sighed and stood, stretching up and revealing his stomach. Michael reached over and poked him on the happy trail, making him twitch down and laugh.

“Give me a kiss before you go to bed,” he said. “And for God’s sake, get a fucking blanket tonight.”

Luke leaned down and kissed him, bumping the nasal cannula a little bit. “Goodnight, you ass,” he whispered, smiling. “And yes, there are blankets in this small apartment, so we’re fine.”

Michael nodded. “Good. I love you, you little shit.”

“I love you too.”

He watched Luke go over to the tiny couch and grab some blankets while he shed his hoodie. He tried not to be creepy, but he had the cutest boyfriend and he liked watching him sleep, especially when he knew that he had more time with which to watch him now that he had new lungs.

In the morning, Luke was gone, leaving a note about how he would be back right after class because UNSW was close and he could study beside Michael, he didn’t care about noise or distractions.

Dr. Yun, responsible for his transplant, ordered to have the epidural removed that morning and also got him booked for a CT scan in the afternoon. The epidural removal went smoothly, apparently, but he wouldn’t have known because he couldn’t feel any pain and they were at his back. However, the epidural pain relievers slowly wore off and what he was getting in his drip wasn’t enough and by the time it got to lunch, he could feel the drains in his chest.

Before Michael could call for a nurse and complain about the pain, he was carted off to the CT scan with every little bump in the floor causing him to clench his jaw and tears slide down his cheeks and into his ears. It took four nurses to move him from the bed to the scanner and he thought that he could get through the scan without any pain relief, until they asked him to raise his arms over his head. Just doing that shifted the chest drains and made him feel like he had four red-hot daggers in his chest.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and it took everything in him to not scream and cry out, beg them to stop or at least give him something before they continued. The scan lasted ten minutes and by the time he came out of the scanner, arms returned to his sides, he was shaking and he felt like he might pass out.

He returned to the ward, to his room, where Luke was waiting with his parents and Michael’s first thought was _fuck_ because he didn’t want Luke to have to see him in so much pain. Rachel, his nurse, came in and held up his chart with the pain scale taped to the back as Michael tried to stop shaking and tried to breathe away the pain (which only hurt more because of the chest drains).

“Pain, one to ten?” She asked, nothing his heart rate and grabbing a blood pressure cuff.

“Like, fifty,” Michael mumbled.

The mood in the room changed and Rachel immediately sent for the pain nurse while Luke came over to his bedside and took his clammy hand. “What is it?”

“Chest drains,” Michael breathed, shutting his eyes tight because he was getting exhausted from the pain.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned.

“Will be when I get morphine or something.”

The pain nurse entered, clucking about how awful it was that he was in pain. He introduced himself as Matthew and tried to find a solution that wasn’t sedation or putting him on a high level of painkillers. Eventually, he decided to call the anaesthetist to give Michael local anaesthetic around the chest drains for something fast-acting.

However, local anaesthetic meant injections beside the chest drains, which made Michael cry and whimper until it kicked in and he was finally more comfortable. He slumped back into the bed, exhausted and ready to sleep.

Luke brushed at his hair, concerned, and whispered encouragement until Michael fell asleep.

The next day, two of the chest drains were removed as well as the catheter measuring his urinary output to make sure his kidneys weren’t failing. They were certain that he was doing well and the physio made him walk around the ward with a walker, which made him feel completely like an old person, but he felt good about walking around for the first time. After lunch, he walked around his room unaided with the help of the physios watching him walk like Bambi.

He went to bed that night successful and on the road to recovery.


	15. Chapter 15

In the morning, he awoke drenched in sweat, having kicked off all the blankets in the night and he glanced at the clock on the wall across from him. It wasn’t even six in the morning. He rang for a nurse, sitting up and putting a hand on his forehead, slick with sweat, and it came back hot.

_Oh God._

Larissa came in, curly hair falling out of her ponytail. “Good morning,” she said, checking his heart monitor and drips. “Oh, your sats have fallen a little. Hm.”

“I have a fever,” Michael said, anxiety making his heart pound faster in his chest.

She grabbed a thermometer and slid it under his tongue. She turned his oxygen up while she was at it and asked about his pain, which he rated at a two. “You do have a fever,” she said, marking it down before plucking the thermometer out of his mouth. “Nearly thirty-nine degrees.”

Michael coughed, trying to shift everything in his lungs that must have settled.

“I’ll grab Dr. Yun,” she said, no longer bright and cheery.

When she left, Michael called his mum. The hospital allowed them to stay in a nearby flat so that it wasn’t a three hour drive home and back to visit their son and when Michael was discharged it wouldn’t be too far for him to drive for bronchoscopies and early transplant clinics. She arrived with Daryl quickly and he felt less terrified but he was still hot as hell, no matter how much water he sipped or how much his mum wiped his face with a cool cloth.

By eight, his sats were even lower and he was diagnosed with a vague “lung infection” while they took bacterial cultures and put him on humified oxygen to try and get his sats up. However, it didn’t make much difference because his sats plummeted and he was too exhausted to do anything but lay there and let the doctors and nurses poke him for arterial blood gases and infection markers. His focus was on breathing – in and out and in and out – and staying alive.

The day was spent in a daze, reminding himself to breathe and trying not to think about how hard his heart was pounding and how this felt like his time in the ITU with that last awful infection. He worried that they were going to put him on BiPAP again and he would become delirious again.

Luke arrived at some point (time blurred together in pain and lack of oxygen) and came and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand.

“Oh, Michael,” he whispered, squeezing his hand. “Are you okay?”

Michael nodded and smiled behind the oxygen mask. “Yeah, I’m doing good,” he said. “Just… a bump in the road, you know?”

Luke nodded, forcing a smile. “You’ll be okay.”

Michael nodded and shut his eyes as Dr. Yun came in and he doubted that it was with good news or a significant diagnosis.

“We’ve alerted the ITU to your condition,” he said, checking Michael’s pulse oximeter and making sure it was attached well on his finger. “But they don’t have any beds available for you right now. So we’re getting an outreach team together to give you round-the-clock care and they’ll be up shortly.”

Michael nodded and, as predicted, the ITU outreach team came up and assessed him, deciding on switching him to CPAP instead of humidified oxygen. It made some improvement, but it also reminded him too much of his last time in the ITU.

Luke had to leave, with a brave smile and a thousand promises that he would be there in the morning first thing and that Michael would feel better. It didn’t feel too promising, mostly because Michael couldn’t sleep due to his heart pounding and the feeling that he couldn’t get enough oxygen.

His parents stayed with him all night while he shifted in anxiety and panic, tossing and turning all night as he tried to sleep and failed. A few times when Daryl and Karen dozed, Michael tried to stop his breathing surreptitiously but the CPAP reinflated his lungs and he had no choice but to go with it and keep fighting.

He never understood why, or how, someone fought an illness until now, until he was on oxygen and every single breath was a fight and staying awake was a fight, even though he was really trying to sleep. Just existing was exhausting him and he didn’t want to die but he was done fighting. He was ready to stop fighting and he thought that was what a lung transplant was all about, not fighting your lungs anymore.

He didn’t sleep, even though he asked and almost begged for something to put him to sleep and keep him asleep but he thought that it might be better if he was awake so he wouldn’t just drift off (despite part of him wanting to just drift off because it would be easy).

At seven, Michael was told he would be taken down to the ITU as soon as possible. He started crying immediately, half out of frustration and half out of fear that he wouldn’t make it.

“Please, mum, please don’t let me go,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks and it all made it a little harder to breathe.

She brushed at his hair and smiled, sad. “You have to, Mikey,” she said quietly. “It’s for the best.”

“I don’t want to go back, please, please, just let me stay here and die,” he sobbed. “I’m done, I can’t do it anymore, I can’t. Just let me go, let me die.”

Tears welled in both his parents’ eyes and he felt horrible but he knew that the alternative to this was continuing to stay fighting and he was tired of fighting. He wanted to stop fighting and he wanted to lie down and sleep for a good long while.

“No,” Karen said firmly. “You’re my only son and I love you and you are the most important thing in my life. I love you so much and you’re going to keep fighting, okay? We can’t live without you in our lives.”

Michael cried all the way down to the ITU and he imagined that his parents did, too, though they came in a few minutes later with red-rimmed eyes and holding hands. He was stuck in his hospital bed – close to death, he knew, and he wanted to be anywhere but here. Maybe by the ocean. That would be a nice way to go. He could have a drink, too, and just drift off surrounded by the people he loved to the sound and smell of the ocean.

“Okay, Michael,” Dr. Yun said. “What we’re going to do is reventilate your lungs and let you rest with some sedation. We’ll also start you on some antibiotics, high-dose steroids, and possibly dialysis so we don’t wreck your kidneys with all of this. Sound good?”

Michael nodded, still sniveling as he held Daniel the stuffed lion on his lap.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

 

Luke sat in class, half-asleep from having stayed up late beside Michael last night and waking up early this morning to get to class. His prof was lecturing on topography and he was sleepy, thinking about getting coffee between classes just so he could stay awake. Maybe he would get coffee and then drive to St. Vincent’s. He didn’t really have to go to history, at least not today, since they were just going over the readings he had already done. He figured that yeah, he would skip class and go see Michael to check on him and see how he’s doing, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He looked at the name, making sure it wasn’t his work before he slunk out of the classroom and into the hallway, answering Michael’s call.

“Hey,” he said quietly, moving further down the hallway until he got far enough away he was sure his prof wouldn’t hear him. She knew that his boyfriend had had a medical procedure and he might have to leave spontaneously but he still didn’t want her to hear.

“Hi, Luke,” Karen said and Luke’s blood immediately froze.

“Hey, Karen, how are things?” He asked, trying to keep a nonchalant tone to his voice like he dealt with this all the time.

“Not too good, actually,” she said. “Michael developed an infection and his breathing isn’t very good. They’re going to sedate him to reventilate him and let him rest.”

Luke sat down against the wall, knees shaking too much to support his body. “Is he okay?”

“Luke, it’s… basically a medically induced coma,” she said quietly. “You should get here.”

“Okay,” he said, saying a quick goodbye and heading back into the classroom.

He grabbed his things, not even paying attention to the eyes on his back as he nearly ran across campus to his car and got in, no regard for grabbing anything from his dorm before he got a chance to say goodbye to Michael.

He got to the hospital in record time and rushed up to the ITU, where he had to check in and show ID to confirm that the was, in fact, Luke Hemmings, but all he had was his student card and it wasn’t until he nearly cried and Daryl came to fetch him that he was allowed in.

Daryl put an arm around his shoulders as they walked down the halls of the ITU, slowly towards Michael’s room. “It’s bad,” he said frankly. “They haven’t determined what’s making him sick yet but his fever is still high and his heart is beating too fast and his oxygen saturation is too low. They’re putting him out to reventilate him.”

Luke nodded and followed him. “Is he going to live?”

“Absolutely,” Daryl answered, too fast and too sure.

Luke nodded and sighed, following him into the room and going over to Michael, who was red-faced and teary-eyed with too much equipment around him and too much going on around him with too many doctors. He went over to him and sat on the edge of the bed with some sort of special mattress to prevent bedsores.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Luke smiled, taking his hand, cold and pale.

Michael tried to smile but he was sad and tear-soaked.

“I love you a lot, you know that? And you’re going to be okay.”

He nodded and pulled Luke closer to him, leaning up to kiss him quickly and Luke didn’t – he really didn’t – think about how it could be their last kiss and he could lose Michael after this and how much that would fucking ruin him.

“I love you too,” Michael whispered when he pulled away from the kiss.

Luke smiled and held onto his hand tight, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.

“Tell them that you’ll see them later,” the doctor said and Luke bit down hard on his lip, forcing a tight smile.

“I’ll see you later,” Michael whispered as the nurse came over with a full syringe and stuck it into his arm and Michael slowly drifted off.

They were asked to leave while Michael was intubated and hooked up to dialysis and a constant IV of a cocktail of nine impossible to pronounce antibiotics. After everything was hooked up, they were taken to the Dr. Yun’s office to discuss Michael’s situation and Luke was still trying not to cry.

“His results just came down from the lab,” Dr. Yun said, sitting across from them in a big leather chair. Luke wondered if they got better chairs if they were specialists.

Karen and Daryl wrapped their hands together and Luke played with his fingers.

“His lungs are completely whited out on the x-rays,” Dr. Yun said, “suggesting infection. He has primary pseudomonas and secondary pneumonia as well as septicaemia.”

Luke didn’t know most of those things (what the fuck was pseudomonas? What the fuck was septicaemia?) but they were long and scary and they didn’t sound like they were good things.

“His heart is working at full speed as well as his lungs. He has a heart rate of 170 bpm and… that isn’t good for his heart. That’s dangerously high.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Daryl asked, voice thick with tears.

Dr. Yun, like a bad hospital drama, removed his glasses and sighed. “Well… it could really go either way right now.”

“Is he going to die?” Karen asked. She had the voice of a mama bear, demanding to know if her only son was going to die.

“There’s a high chance he won’t survive,” Dr. Yun said. “This, really, is one of the worst-case scenarios I’ve seen post double lung transplant.”

Luke bit down hard on his lip and he tried not to think about this, about how he could lose his boyfriend and he didn’t want to be here but he didn’t want to leave.

“Thank you,” Karen said. “How are you treating him?”

“Nine antibiotics as well as dialysis so his kidneys can rest from the load of antibiotics,” Dr. Yun explained. “We’re also doing high-dose steroids, keeping him on NG feedings and intubated for now. However, this might make his new lungs just as wrecked as his old ones. We’re monitoring the situation and we’ll keep our eyes on him for now.”

“What if his lungs end up as bad as his old lungs?” Daryl asked, sniffling.

“Well, in the perfect scenario he would recover and his lungs would recover as well. But if his lungs don’t recover but he’s okay, then he’ll probably be listed for another transplant.”

Luke didn’t know if Michael would be able to take that. He fought hard to get to this day and now that he had new lungs everything had just gone back to shit.

Dr. Yun thanked them for their time and shook all their hands and Luke walked out on shaky legs. He didn’t know what to do so he followed Daryl and Karen, both crying, back to Michael’s room. The heart monitor beeped too fast and Luke went over, sitting in one of the unfortunately uncomfortable chairs beside the bed, taking his hand. He was frozen to the touch, vaguely purple and all Luke could think about were zombie movies and how Michael, pale, frozen and purple, looked like a zombie.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, squeezing his hand and getting no reassuring squeeze back. His chest tightened even harder, suffocating him and all he could do was exhale hard.

Luke stood, Karen and Daryl asking if he would come back but he didn’t have an answer yet and he had to just get some air. He walked out of the hospital, forgetting to sign out on the visitors sheet, and he walked until he hit the park by the hospital, with ponds and trees and benches and paths.

He collapsed onto one of the benches and sobbed, the floodgates opening a tsunami. It hit him that he was probably not the only person to come to this park, this bench, to cry over a loved one. He was not the only person to possibly lose someone but it scared the absolute shit out of him.

When he caught his breath, after being ignored by passers-by who only looked at his tear-streaked face with sympathy and kept moving, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called the only person he knew was free: Ben.

“Luke?” He asked upon answering. “Is everything okay?”

Luke sniffled, remembering when his anxiety was awful in high school and Ben told him that he could call any time, even if he was at his girlfriend’s place, and he would help him out. “No,” he said.

“Where are you?” Ben asked.

“St. Vincent’s hospital,” Luke replied. “Michael got his transplant last week, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and Luke heard the jingle of keys on the other end. “Is he okay?”

“Nope,” Luke whispered, tears starting fresh. “His new lungs are infected and he has pneumonia and septicaemia and they don’t know if he’s going to live.”

“Hey,” Ben soothed as Luke started to cry again. “It’s okay. I’ll be there in like, five minutes, tops, okay?”

“Okay. I’m in the park next to the hospital,” Luke sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “Bring some tissues?”

“Of course.”

Luke was alone with an expiration time and he tried to breathe while he waited for his brother, thinking that he had his PRNs in his car and he could hunt them out if he really had to. He watched the breeze flutter the leaves and he took deep breaths, never knowing what it was like for Michael when he couldn’t breathe, when his lungs, filled with infection, didn’t cooperate with him. He only knew the panic side of not breathing, when he was crying too hard or when he couldn’t catch his breath, but that wasn’t the same.

Ben showed up, carrying a coffee cup and Luke thought that coffee would probably send him into cardiac arrest at this point. Ben sat next to him and handed him the cup.

“Hot chocolate,” he said, putting his hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Luke whispered, holding the warm drink in his hands. He had a sleeve but it was still hot and he worried that it would grow too hot on his hands after a while.

“So, your boyfriend,” Ben said, rubbing his back and Luke let his breath out.

“They don’t know if he’s going to make it,” Luke whispered to the hot chocolate. “And if he does, his lungs might be so ruined that he’ll have to get another transplant.”

Ben sighed and put his arm around Luke’s shoulders. Luke leaned into the touch, tears all dried up but sobs still waiting in the wings. “Jesus. That’s… that’s fucking rough.”

“I know,” Luke sniffed.

“Do you have your meds?”

“In the car.” He thought he could feel the beginnings of a migraine somewhere in the back of his skull, waiting to come out in full force.

“Do you need them?”

Luke sighed and leaned into his brother’s warm arms. Ben was smaller than him – a fact that he had not yet accepted – but he was warm and if Luke squinted for a while he could imagine that it was okay. “No. I’m okay.”

“Mmm, yeah, give me your keys,” he said, holding his palm out.

Luke reached into his pocket and handed him his keys. “Just bring my backpack,” he said.

Ben stood and walked towards the parking lot while Luke stared out at the greenery while he waited for his brother to return. He came back with Luke’s backpack, stuffed haphazardly with his books and Luke reached into the front pocket, searching until he found the small bottle of Ativan and he took it, knowing it would help in the short-term and it would probably help him sleep tonight.

“There you go,” Ben said, rubbing his back as Luke replaced the bottle and set his backpack on the ground. “You know that you’ll be okay, right?”

Luke shook his head. “Only if he is.”

“I doubt that,” Ben said. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Luke snorted.

“Don’t snort at me. You are. That one dick, all the issues you went through in high school and that other bitch. And look at you. Studying math and, like, what’s your GPA? 4.0?”

Luke chuckled and rubbed at his eyes. “No,” he said. “I don’t have a 4.0.”

“Well, still, you’re the smartest and you work the hardest out of all of us.”

“Not true, Jack worked on a farm last summer and that was hard work.”

Ben sighed. “Stop it, Luke. You can get through anything and I can promise you that you’re going to get through all of this, even if something happens to Michael. Okay?”

Luke bit down hard on his lip. “Okay…”

“Get back in there, okay? You need to be with him.”

Luke nodded. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered.

“Absolutely, Lukey,” Ben said, pressing a kiss to his head. “Go on back.”

He nodded and went back into the hospital with his backpack, apologizing to Karen and Daryl for getting upset but they just hugged him and told him it was okay. And then he sat next to Michael, dwarfed by the tubes and the machines and mostly hidden under blankets tucked up to his chin to keep him warm because dialysis cooled the body down. Luke, not a medical expert by any means, figured that was probably good for his fever.

The three of them took turns sitting beside Michael and holding his hand and talking to him, telling him inane stories, or in Luke’s case, talking out math theories just so he didn’t have to face the silence. He knew that Michael always pretended to listen when he described all the various terms and issues and complicated formulas and that, in reality, he didn’t understand most of them, but he just… couldn’t stand listening to the machines and nothing else.

He listened to Karen describe stories from his childhood – Michael eating grass and dog food – and he tried to sleep as much as he could. He secretly hoped that he could sleep until Michael woke up but he knew that wouldn’t be possible. Michael would come out of sedation slowly, if ever, and Luke couldn’t sleep for that long.

“Go get some rest,” Karen whispered and Luke looked up, his head resting against his arm on the rail of the bed.

Luke blinked and looked at Michael, his heart beating too fast still and his lungs mechanically ventilated.

“He’ll still be here when you get back in the morning,” she said, kissing Luke’s head.

“Can’t I stay here?” He whispers.

“You’ll be happier at home,” she said, smiling sadly.

Luke sighed and stood up, rubbing at his eyes. He knew she was right, he would be much happier at home with his parents beside him and his own bed. But he would also have to lay there and look at the small bits of Michael around the room and he wondered if he would ever get to sleep for worrying about Michael all night.

“Yeah,” he said, standing and kissing Michael’s head. “I love you, Mikey. Better be awake tomorrow morning when I get here.”

Luke went home and slept with his phone turned all the way up just in case anything happened overnight. His parents helped him get to sleep, the same way they did when he was younger and his days were panic attacks followed by migraines and more panic attacks and he felt like a little kid again but he needed the sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

His phone rang at four in the morning, six hours after he left the hospital, and he tried to ignore it, his mind convincing him that it was part of a dream and that he was fine and he could sleep. And then, after his phone stopped ringing and began again, he shot up remembering what the situation was and how he could not ignore his phone.

“Hello?” Luke asked, thinking that it was too fucking early to be awake but adrenaline was already pumping in his veins and he had to start getting ready to go to the hospital. He’d showered last night, thank fucking God.

“Luke?” Daryl asked, voice wavering. “Hey. You should… You should get here.”

“What happened?” He stood, grabbing some clothes and throwing them to the bed. Trying to listen, he also tried to take off his pajama shorts and pull on regular clothes.

“We… we almost lost him,” Daryl said.

Luke’s heart stopped and he didn’t know if he could drive while he was this anxious.

“They have him stable for the moment but it’s really touch-and-go.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Luke breathed.

He dressed in record speed and got in his car because he couldn’t imagine waiting for a taxi or waiting for a bus. He had to move to be okay and when he got to the hospital, it was scarily busy and he nearly considered parking illegally until he found a spot and went inside.

Michael looked the same as ever but his doctors were there, fussing around him and checking various things. Luke took a seat with his parents and watched them, his heart beating nearly as fast as Michael’s was and it fucking killed him.

“Is he okay?” Luke asked and Dr. Yun looked at him.

“No,” he said honestly. “We’re going to discuss some options right now, if you don’t mind.”

“What are your options?” Karen asked.

“We could either put him on an ECMO machine or turn him into prone position,” he said. “ECMO would take over his heart and lungs but it’s very invasive. Prone would take some pressure off his lungs and heart but it takes a lot of sedation.”

All of it made Luke feel vaguely nauseous. He just wanted it to all be over and he wanted to hear Michael’s voice again and go back to cuddling while studying or watching Netflix in the dorm. He knew that a part of dating Michael was dealing with the medical side to all of it but right now he wanted all the medical stuff to go away.

By the actual morning, Luke had informed his parents that he was back at the hospital and he was shuffled out of the room while they turned Michael prone because they worried he wouldn’t survive the procedure to put him on ECMO. Luke didn’t go back in, opting to stay in the waiting room while Karen and Daryl went in but Luke spent some time reflecting and praying.

His phone buzzed after a while and he worried that it was Karen calling him from Michael’s room. He answered it with a rushed hello, heart beginning to pound under his chest and nausea swirling in his stomach.

“Hey, Luke,” Ashton said. “Is Michael in the transplant recovery ward?”

“No,” Luke whispered, taking a breath. “No. He’s in the ITU. Infections. I… I meant to call you but there’s just been so much going on and I haven’t had a chance to eat breakfast yet… I’m sorry, Ash, I really did mean to call.”

Ashton sucked in a breath. “What’s… is he okay? What’s wrong?”

“Lung infection, pneumonia and septicaemia,” Luke explained. “He’s… really sedated and on a ventilator right now.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“They don’t know.”

“Where are you?”

“ITU waiting area.”

“I’ll be there in a second. With breakfast. You have to remember to eat, Luke,” Ashton said and Luke cracked a tiny smile.

“Thank you.”

Ashton showed up a few minutes later, a breakfast sandwich and a coffee in his hands that he handed to Luke. He sat next to him and Luke unwrapped the breakfast sandwich, smelling bacon and his stomach nearly grumbled aloud.

Luke nibbled at the sandwich, mostly getting pieces of bacon, while Ashton leaned against him. “Is he going to die?” Ashton whispered.

“I don’t know,” Luke replied, stomach turning at the thought of it.

“He can’t die. We… we won’t graduate together but he was supposed to come back and be my roommate again. We were supposed to move out after college into some tiny ass flat, all the four of us, until we got a bigger place and spread out a little bit again. Luke, he can’t die.”

Luke rewrapped the sandwich and sipped the coffee. Not sweet enough. But it was okay. “He’ll be okay,” he mumbled.

“Can I go see him?” Ashton asked, wide eyes glassy with tears ready to flow.

Luke nodded and sighed. “Yeah. His parents are in there with them. But he’s on his stomach right now in prone position or something because it relieves pressure on the lungs and improves oxygenation. He… Ash, he looks like shit.”

He nodded and stood. “I’ll be back. I have to let him know that he can’t fucking leave me.”

Luke smiled a little. “You make it sound like he’s your boyfriend.”

Ashton smiled. “He was my boyfriend first,” he teased.

Luke smiled and tried to eat his breakfast sandwich while he scrolled through Facebook with nothing else to do. People were writing on Michael’s wall, wishing him well after his surgery and he noted that Karen and Daryl were both silent, only posting a photo of Michael sitting up and looking healthy post-surgery, with his dressed incision on display and a wide smile on his face. It was already almost two weeks ago that he had the surgery that changed everything.

Two weeks ago? He looked at the date and it sickened him to see that it was two days from their one year anniversary and a day before his birthday. He had some texts from his mum, reminding him that he had to be home tomorrow and one from his dad, asking what he wanted for dinner for his birthday.

His twentieth birthday. And Michael would be in a medically induced coma on the edge of life.

Their one year anniversary, when they became official. And Michael would be clinging to life.

He rewrapped the last piece of the sandwich and set it aside to toss later. His stomach churned and he regretted eating as much of the sandwich as he did in case it came back up. He took a sip of the coffee as it was the only drink he had and he knew that it would not help his stomach at all.

Ashton returned and frowned at the wrapped bite of the sandwich. “Hey, you didn’t finish your breakfast.”

“Tomorrow is my birthday, Ash,” he whispered.

Ashton nodded and sat down. “Right,” he sighed. “God, I had a whole thing planned with your parents too. Fuck this, man.”

“Day after tomorrow is our one year.”

He took Luke’s hand and squeezed. “I know.”

“Ash,” he whispered, looked at him.

“I know,” he said, pulling him close. “I know.”

They stayed together all day and by the evening, Michael took a turn for the worse again. They managed to save him but it scared the fuck out of Luke and made him spend the rest of the night by his side, watching his chest rise and fall in time with the ventilator.

The doctors told him that it was just that Michael’s body was under a lot of stress, that’s why he kept sliding over the edge and leaving for seconds at a time. Luke stayed by him all night, dozing and resting and when the clock struck twelve, he wished he had Michael beside him to kiss his head and sing him happy birthday and he just wanted to hear his voice.

Luke returned home at six in the morning on his twentieth birthday, to a dead silent house, and he tried his hardest to celebrate while he knew that Michael was in the hospital.

His parents made the day as nice as they could, but it was just another birthday and it was another birthday without one of his favourite people beside him. By the evening, in the middle of cake when Luke was nearly falling asleep, Karen texted him that Michael had stabilised again and that they thought he was doing better. He was turned right way around, too, and his sedation was lowered.

Luke fell asleep in his own bed, his ringer loud just in case. He thought about laying in Michael’s bed a year ago, giggling and a little drunk and agreeing to being his boyfriend officially. And now Michael was in the hospital.

He woke up early in the morning to zero missed calls and an aching to go and see Michael again. He took a shower and dressed before he ate breakfast and went to the hospital and up to Michael’s floor with the thought that it would be another agonizing day of holding his hand and sitting in silence.

He walked in to Michael laying on his back, raised slightly up and holding onto Daniel the Lion on his lap. His fingers curled around it, gently squeezing the plush toy.

Luke looked at Karen and Daryl, looking like they slept for once, and they smiled up at him.

“He’s fighting the sedation,” Karen told him.

“Here,” Daryl said, touching Michael’s arm. “Love, Luke is here. Wiggle your toes if you understood.”

Underneath the blankets, there was a soft movement.

Luke went over and sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of his hands gently. “Hey. It’s me.”

Michael squeezed his hand and Luke beamed, kissing his hand.

“Are you okay?”

Another squeeze: _yes_.

“I love you so, so much. Happy one year, love.”

Michael squeezed his hand as hard as he could for as long as he could, still holding onto him after his muscles gave out.

Luke giggled and wiped at his eyes. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Michael’s forehead, receiving a gentle squeeze in return.

 

It took another four days before they took the ventilator out. In that time, they weaned Michael off of the sedatives, which put him again in what Luke thought was probably delirium from the amount of nonsensical things he tried to communicate and his confusion about so many things. Every time Luke came and Michael fought to open his eyes, Michael would ask for a selfie just to prove that Luke was there.

With the affectionate and cute moments also came the panic attacks, where Michael would shake and tears would slip out of his eyes. The doctors said it was a side-effect of coming off the sedatives and that by the time he was okay, he would stop having these panic attacks, but Luke worried he was having nightmares or awful hallucinations again and tried his best to hold Michael’s hand and be there for him.

Luke went back to school and returned every evening to sit with Michael and do his homework or readings. After a particularly painful biology lecture, he arrived to find Michael with the ventilator removed and sitting up in bed, many more of his tubes removed as well. In exchange for the ventilator he had CPAP with high-flow oxygen and everything was carefully monitored but he was doing good.

“Hey,” Luke beamed, dropping his bag by the door and going over to the bed. He perched on the edge and took Michael’s hands.

“Hey,” Michael whispered, voice scratchy from more than a week of not speaking. “Happy anniversary. Sorry I missed it.”

“You were doing more important things like getting better,” Luke said, kissing his head.

Michael smiled a little. “Happy birthday, too,” he said.

“Shut up,” Luke laughed, leaning forward to connect their lips.

Michael’s lips were too dry to make kissing altogether nice but it had been so long since Luke got the chance to kiss his boyfriend that he wanted to take it.

Michael pulled away with a small laugh. “I’ve only had a few water-soaked sponges. They promised I’d get a cup of tea soon, though.”

“They make you tea in this place? Wow, five star treatment.”

Michael laughed and Luke’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and read the text.

 _Calum_  
4:53  
Dude fuck Ash and I were supposed to go to a house party tonight but he’s really sick but I still wanna go. Will you come with me? I don’t want to go alone. I’ll pay for ur beer?

Luke bit down on his lip and glanced at Michael, who he knew would not die if Luke were to step out for a piss.

“Who is it? Your mum?” Michael asked. “Those cinnamon rolls were really good, even though they were one of the last solid things I ate.”

Luke laughed. “She was really glad you enjoyed them and she prayed a lot for you over the last little while.”

“She’s so nice,” Michael smiled. “Anyway, who is it?”

“Calum. He was supposed to go out with Ash tonight but he’s sick so he’s asking me to go.”

“You should,” Michael said, yawning. “I’m okay. I’ll still be here when you get here tomorrow all hungover. And next time I’ll join you and get drunk as hell.”

Luke smiled. “I haven’t had a chat with you in so long.”

“But you’ve also been stressed, yeah? It’ll be good for you to let loose.”

He sighed and smiled. “Yeah…”

“So, go. I won’t be alone and maybe next time I’ll be off the CPAP and I’ll be better.”

Luke pouted.

“Calum is one of your best friends and you love him and you need some time for you. To like, go out and have fun and then take care of yourself and pamper yourself in the morning. Seriously, Luke.”

“Only if you promise me you’re okay,” Luke whispered.

“I promise,” Michael said. “Go out and get drunk and come back in the morning, okay? I’m boring, all I’m going to do tonight is sleep.”

Luke snorted. “You’re my boyfriend and you’re awake for once.”

Michael hummed. “I’ll be asleep again soon, though. Hard work, this.”

“Yeah. Get some rest, then, okay? I promise I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Luke texted Calum, agreeing to go to the house party with him before he went back to his dorm to get ready for it. It was almost alien to take a shower and do his hair and put thought into what he was wearing instead of just putting on something so he could get to the hospital faster. Maybe Michael was right, maybe he did need this.

Calum picked him up early so they could get dinner, textbooks in the back of his car and so many reminders of school.

“This is my fourth coffee today,” Calum said at a red light as he took a sip of his coffee – a large. “Luke, I drink black coffee now. What’s wrong with me?”

Luke chuckled. “You’re a grown man now, Cal.”

Calum set his coffee down. “I can’t stand cream or sugar in there anymore.”

“Do you take your rum and Coke without the Coke?”

“Oh my fucking God, yes,” he said. “Pre-med is the fucking death of me.”

“Dude, it’s okay, at least now you get drunk faster,” Luke said. “Less calories and shit?”

Calum sighed and pulled into a parking lot. “Luke, I don’t _want_ to be an adult,” he said. “Being an adult involves like, making sure you eat a vegetable or two and paying bills and saving for retirement. _Retirement_.”

Luke laughed. “You’re being dramatic. Come on, let’s go have pho.”

“I am in no way dramatic.”

They piled out of the car and went into the Vietnamese restaurant and ate dinner together, remembering to load up on carbs for a night full of drinking.

And within an hour of arriving at the house-party, packed full of people and alcohol, Luke was a little drunk. It was nice, after everything in the past two weeks, to be drunk and nursing his fourth drink and swaying along to the ambient music instead of listening to a ventilator and a too-high heart rate. Michael was absolutely right: he did need this – but he knew that he would feel like shit in the morning.

“Luke!” Someone yelled and it was Courtney, a girl from one of his classes, dressed up with gold glitter on her dark skin.

“Hey,” he smiled, hugging her.

“Where have you been? We have a midterm next week!”

Luke laughed and he really did not care about a midterm. “My boyfriend got a lung transplant,” he said. “And then he like, almost died.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious? That’s so insane! Did you give him your lungs? Oh, shit wait…”

Luke laughed again. “Nope, I kinda need my lungs. Some donor, you’re not allowed to know who it is, gave him some lungs.”

“But wait, what if the – the donor had like, shitty lungs?”

“They don’t use them, they wait for another donor to come along,” Luke said. “So, like, that’s why it’s important people like us are signed up as donors so that our lungs can be used.”

“Oh shit! Am I donor? Oh my God, I’m going to sign up right now.”

She pulled her phone out as Molly came up to them, wrapping an arm around Courtney’s waist and pressing a big, red kiss on her cheek. “What are you doing on your phone?” She whinged. “Come dance with me!”

“No, babe, I’m signing up to be an organ donor!” Courtney smiled. “So that people like Luke’s boyfriend can get new lungs ‘n stuff!”

“Your boyfriend got new lungs?!” Molly gasped. “That’s so exciting! I’m dedicating this party to him!”

“Sign up with me!”

“Are you serious? Let’s make everyone sign up!”

Molly climbed onto the coffee table, holding Courtney’s shoulder, and shouted over the music, “Free beer if you sign up to be an organ donor!”

Currently, Molly charged five dollars for the first cup and two for subsequent refills. (“I’m in fucking uni and this shit is expensive,” she said earlier. “Bring your own booze if you don’t want to pay but I bet you mine is cheaper.”) Before Luke knew it, everyone in front of him was discussing organ donation and reading stories from the organ donation website. And Luke got to tell his very own story, about Michael, who nearly died before his lung transplant and nearly died after it, too, but he was fine now. And it was all thanks to a donor.


	17. Chapter 17

Michael sat in the hospital bed in the ITU, noises and alarms coming from the hallway, but the TV was on in the corner, the tiny thing that looked like it was older than Michael himself. His parents were beside him, poking at their phones since he had been out of sedation for a good long while now and they’d had a chance to cry and tell them they loved him and everything. He’d heard it while he was in sedation as well, but the early stuff he didn’t hear. He didn’t know he’d nearly died twice and he was pretty glad he hadn’t died.

The news played on the TV with subtitles popping up so they didn’t have to strain to hear it. If it was as old as he thought it was, it probably couldn’t handle surround-sound audio and the speakers in it were probably half dust at this point.

A reporter stood in the rain somewhere, the subtitles blocked the ribbon below with her location, talking about a car accident that appeared to involve drugs or alcohol. Michael didn’t really know why this was news but then again, most anything was news these days.

He checked his phone for the time and wondered when Luke would wake up and come see him, hungover and tired. He glanced up at the news again as they switched to happier news, talking about a dog that had been reunited with its owner after three weeks missing. He read the subtitles to it as they followed up with a story about the organ donor registry.

“Overnight, the Organ and Tissue Authority received hundreds of new registered donors specifically in their late teens or early twenties,” the subtitles read.

It switched to an OTA spokesperson. “Generally, college-aged people aren’t informed or educated on organ and tissue donation so they don’t register as donors. This is unprecedented but we’re very excited and glad to have a larger list of potential donors.”

She went on to talk about talking to one’s family about organ donation and Michael smiled and thought of himself. He didn’t know anything about the donor except that they were about his size, his tissue type and blood type, and they didn’t need their lungs anymore, but he was forever thankful to them and their family for their decision.

Luke walked in, shedding his rain-soaked coat as he came in with squeaking shoes. “Good morning,” he said, voice rough with a hangover.

“Good morning,” Michael smiled, watching him hang his coat on the coat hanger provided in the corner. “You feel okay?”

“Too much beer,” Luke said, sighing and sitting on the edge of Michael’s bed to kiss his forehead. “How are you, more importantly?”

“Good,” he said, honestly. “Did you see that story about college students mass registering to be organ and tissue donors?”

Luke smiled. “Might have been my fault. I told Courtney about you and then Molly asked and announced that anyone who registered would get free beer. I guess everyone went home and kept spreading the message.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Michael asked.

Luke smiled. “Oops?”

“Oops? For getting like, hundreds of kids our age to sign up to be organ donors? What the fuck?”

Luke smiled and kissed his temple. “Oops.”

Michael groaned, shocked by not coughing afterwards. “Thank you.”

“I really didn’t mean to,” he said, laughing and leaning over far enough that Michael could run a hand gently through his hair.

“Yeah, but it still helps,” he whispered.

Luke smiled and kissed his head. “Your hair is greasy.”

“Is it? Oh. Being asleep for like, two weeks means you don’t really care about the state of your hair. Shit, do I have a beard?” He reached up and felt prickly stubble on his face, but not much more.

“No, you’re like, a white guy and you can’t grow all that much facial hair,” Luke said. “However, I will say, some personal grooming would not hurt. You probably smell.”

“Probably,” Michael shrugged. He had been hoping to recover smoothly and be able to shower and bathe quickly after his transplant but that wasn’t the case. He wished he could get up and do things but he’d been bed-ridden for the past two weeks and even beginning to walk would be awful. His balance was probably terrible because of the extreme amount of antibiotics in his system and the strength of all of them combined.

Luke buried his face in Michael’s neck and giggled. “You smell.”

“Meanie,” Michael smiled, kissing his forehead. “You smell, too.”

“I am not mean.”

“You said I smell.”

Luke smiled up at him and switched back to the chair beside his bed to hold his hand and sip water and rub at his dark-circled eyes. Everyone was kicked out while Michael was given a sponge bath, which was terribly uncomfortable but he felt better afterwards and a little less stale. When Luke and his parents were allowed back in, his hair was washed while he was still in bed. The water flowing over his head felt fantastic and he craved a real, actual shower instead of more sponge baths.

Nurses weighed him and frowned at the low weight before they helped him walk, with the help of a walker, over to a big plush chair on the other side of the room. It felt like learning to walk all over again, even though he hadn’t been able to form memories the last time he learned how to walk, but it was a lovely change of scenery.

However, being in the chair, sitting upright and being able to start eating solid foods again after relying on his NG tube was disrupted by having to comply to the strict ITU visiting times. At the very least, it kept Luke in class most of the time, but he woke up early and fell asleep while his parents and Luke visited and waiting for seven hours between seven in the morning and two in the afternoon was awful.

Michael had his first bronchoscopy scheduled when he went in for a lung transplant and it worked out happily that he was able to be there for it. His mum was allowed in early to wave him off and his lungs looked good. His day was spent in bed, for the most part, and he felt the closest to human that he had in a while.

Luke came the next day and helped him into his own clothes, the soft ones that he had packed when he first got onto the transplant list. He got on his own boxers and soft flannel pants and a warm dressing gown to sit around in. The day after, he was declared infection-free and he wondered if that meant they would send him home soon, to the apartment nearby where his parents were staying so that they weren’t so far away.

The only thing was, he lost so much weight and so much muscle that they had to retrain him how to walk and do every day things that he took for granted beforehand. If he had been thin before, he was goddamn skeletal now. He still hadn’t seen himself with bandages off his chest, but his collarbone popped out and his legs were the size of Luke’s forearms and he felt like he was made out of twigs.

He was finally allowed to shower, with the help of his mother and the careful instructions of a nurse. It felt so good to have warm water run over his body instead of just the sponge-baths he was accustomed to. When he got out, he dried off and moisturized his whole body and snuggled into bed to watch a movie on his laptop.

Luke came by in the morning before school, when the morning nurse brought a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and Michael felt like shit.

“Come on, love, at least eat your bacon,” Luke said, holding the bacon up.

Michael shook his head, turning his head away. Nauseous and unmotivated to do anything, he thought of his physio later and he wished he could just sleep through it. Putting work into getting better gets to be too much.

Eventually, Luke coaxed him to drink some orange juice to take his meds with, to get his blood sugar up, but it just came right back up with last night’s meal.

Luke petted his hair as he retched into the bedpan. “You’re okay, you’ll feel okay soon,” he promised.

Michael took a breath and a nurse reached over with a cool cloth to wipe at his mouth, which felt so insurmountably good. She handed him a cup of water to sip.

“You’re okay,” she promised. “Transplants are very hard on the body. Especially lung transplants.”

Michael nodded and took a deep breath.

Luke smiled and brushed at his hair and Michael didn’t feel better with all of their kind words. He felt terrible and he pushed thoughts of a new infection away. If it was like the old infections, he was fine. If it was like the latest one, he didn’t know if he could face it. Like finishing a big assignment only to find another deadline looming, he knew that whatever he was facing he would have to fight, but he didn’t want to.

“They’ll know if you’re really sick again, love,” Luke said quietly. “Blood work and everything.”

Michael let himself be poked for blood work and they found nothing sufficient but they figured he was probably dehydrated and put him on a drip and added a few new tablets to help with the nausea and took out three of the antibiotics that might be hard on his kidneys. Despite a day on this treatment, he continued to feel worse, and his breathing sped up and got more and more shallow and his sats dropped.

He panicked.

“Please fucking help me,” he begged, trying his hardest not to cry.

“I think your breathing is just anxiety,” a nurse told him. “You’re fine, just try to breathe in and out slowly.”

“I _can’t_ ,” he said.

He sighed, one of the less friendly nurses, and went to fetch a doctor to get a “diagnosis” when all he would do was slip some lorazepam into his drip and call it a day.

The doctor, significantly worried, scheduled a meeting with every single one of Michael’s doctors involved in the transplant to look over his blood work and his symptoms. By the afternoon, with lorazepam doing nothing to ease his symptoms, they diagnosed him with renal failure and acidosis in his blood.

“So, what does that mean?” Daryl asked, glancing at Michael. “Will he be okay?”

“Oh, of course,” Dr. Yun said. “Once we get him on dialysis to clear his blood, he’ll be fine. The kidneys work by filtering toxins from the blood and since Michael’s aren’t working at this time, his blood is full of toxins that should not be there. This is disrupting the flow of hemoglobin, which is why he feels so breathless because his brain senses that his organs aren’t getting enough oxygen and thus asking him to breathe harder.”

“Just dialysis and I’ll be better?” Michael asked.

“Hopefully. You’ll be on dialysis to help your kidneys get on until they, for lack of a better term, ‘wake up’. We’re going to take you back down to the ITU.”

Michael sighed and nodded. ITU wasn’t ideal, but it was what needed to be done. He was wheeled back down to the ITU and saw all the nice nurses he remembered from last time, when he woke up and had no idea what time it was. The doctors came in an hour to fit him for a dialysis line.

It was supposed to go in his neck and it went in (painfully) but they couldn’t pull blood out of it, which they had to do. So they tried the other side of his neck (which had been used when he was in a coma) and was not suitable this time. It needed to be a big accessible vein and they finally decided to use the one in his groin; nice and juicy, the nurse said as she slid the needle in there and Michael gritted his teeth. (He was used to needles, just not ones that were in his groin, that close to his balls.)

By the time they finished, it was late and visiting hours were over but they let Michael’s parents and Luke in to say goodnight.

“You okay?” Luke asked, taking his hand and clutching on tight.

It was probably just as scary for Luke as it was for Michael. “I’m fine,” he said.

Luke nodded, unsmiling, and holding onto his hand. “Where’s the needle?”

Michael smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Luke cracked a smile and touched the taped down gauze on his neck where they had gotten the first needle in. “That looks painful.”

“The real one is in my groin,” Michael admitted.

Luke made a face. “Are you serious?”

“It’s the worst,” he said.

Luke was a little pale and Michael couldn’t blame him.

“You should get home, love,” he said. “Get back to your dorm, sleep. I’ll be okay.”

Luke nodded and sighed, kissing him quickly. “Okay. I love you. Don’t go into like, liver failure while I’m gone.”

Michael chuckled. “I’ll try not to. Try to study. I love you, too.”

In the morning, Michael felt a thousand times better, although cold. Dialysis warmed the blood upon re-entry, but not enough, so he was freezing from the inside out and they gave him a special electric blanket to keep him from getting hypothermia. He was able to eat (warm broth and saltines) and to his immense pleasure, he didn’t end up vomiting it right back up.

It was another week of ITU for Michael, with his team weening him off dialysis slowly but surely until they were sure his kidneys had woken up. The physios came early the morning he was to be taken back to the transplant ward (though he didn’t know it yet), and he walked laps around the room, a few of them without support.

That evening, after one of his doctors witnessed him walking around the room and decided that he would go back to the transplant ward.

Calum and Ashton visited with Luke the next day, and it was sunny outside so they took a trip outside, where the sun was shining and the breeze was blowing and it was a beautiful day. It was Michael’s first time outside with new lungs and Deidre stayed close, not hovering, but close just in case something went wrong and he like, swallowed a wasp or something. He was in a wheelchair, with a few blankets wrapped around him because, unlike his friends, he did not have any meat on his bones to keep him warm.

It was so nice.

The ocean salt on the breeze and the warmth of a late-winter sun and all of the makings of a perfect afternoon in perfect company.

 

Michael, in between PFTs and pulmonary rehab and trying his hardest to regain weight, got to meet his old lungs. They were, obviously, dried up and dead from the lack of use, but it was still incredible to see. They were the lungs that had gotten him through nineteen years, even though they got infected and failed once and put him through indescribable amounts of pain and frustration from all the coughing and all the mucus.

After he got the chance to say goodbye to his old life, his old lungs were destroyed.

Once he put on weight and he got off dialysis, Michael went home to the apartment near the hospital. It wasn’t home – he wouldn’t go there for another three months – but it was nice and it was close to the hospital and to Luke.

(It became immediately clear to Michael when he got lunch with Luke one afternoon that he was the one. There was no one else around who knew what Michael had been through and no one who had sat at Michael’s bedside doing his math homework while he clung to life. There was no one else who had rubbed his back while he coughed so hard after having sex. There was no one else who was with him for every one of the transplant calls that he got.

Once he got home, he told his parents, “I’m going to marry Luke one day.”)

His pulmonary function improved as his body absorbed the excess fluid in his lungs and they expanded all the way. His incision healed slowly but surely and his weight slowly increased. They shuffled his meds to find the perfect combination that worked for him (that didn’t wreck his kidneys).

Luke came over to “study” at the apartment, lugging his heavy math textbooks and dropping his bags on the floor.

“It’s quieter here,” Luke claimed as he sat on the couch and opened one of his giant textbooks. “The library has quiet study areas but those are just such shit. No one shuts up.”

Michael snuggled into him and yawned. “Then I’ll make sure I shut up for you.”

Luke laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t,” Michael smiled. “What are you studying anyway?”

“Midterm next week.”

“Next week? Dude, I never studied for anything a week in advance. Always like, a day in advance, at the most.”

Luke shrugged. “Shit’s important. You’ve had a huge break from studying.”

“Mhm, for a lung transplant. But since then, I’ve been relaxing, which you should too, love.”

Luke stuck his tongue out and Michael laughed. “What would you propose we did, then?”

“Well, we could always turn on Netflix. I hear _The Crown_ is really good.”

“There has to be another option,” Luke said.

“Hmm, well, my incision has healed and my energy is like, really good right now. We could try having sex.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure we won’t hurt you? I mean, you went into respiratory failure, and then renal failure, and you could barely walk a month ago.”

“I’m pretty sure it won’t hurt me. I mean, we should be careful, but I don’t think it’ll kill me as terribly as it would when I was actively dying.”

Luke kissed him and Michael took that as a _yes_. “I hate when you talk about dying,” he whispered.

Michael pulled him closer, kissing him and tangling his fingers in his hair. He pulled away for air – the good kind of breathless – and looked at Luke. “We should get to my room.”

“We can’t fuck on this couch?” Luke asked.

“Sadly,” Michael said, grinning.

Michael’s temporary room was nothing like his room at home. It was the perfect room that could be featured on Instagram, brightly lit and minimalist with a window that overlooked traffic and everything matching.

Luke shut the door behind them (it had no lock) and he leaned over and kissed him again, hands on his waist near his sweatpants. They moved over to the bed and Luke hovered over top of Michael, hands careful around his chest where the incision was and his lips avoiding the marks on his neck where the central line had been.

Michael’s Taylor Swift shirt came off no problem and Luke sat above him, straddling him. “Can I touch it?” He asked of the scar.

“Are your hands clean?” Michael teased as he sat up and tugged at Luke’s shirt.

Luke pulled it off, his chest milky white and clear of any scars or imperfections. No port, no big incision from a double lung transplant, no needle marks. Luke glanced down at his chest, his eyes finding all the things wrong with his upper body (too thin here, too thick there, and, really, his bellybutton is such a weird shape), and Michael met his eyes.

“Beautiful,” Michael murmured and Luke giggled.

“Shut up, don’t make this sappy,” he said, leaning down and kissing Michael.

Michael reached up, finding the button on Luke’s jeans and undoing it before pulling them down as far as they could go on his spread thighs. Michael pulled away for breath and laughed. “Spiderman boxers?”

Luke looked down and flushed. “It… it’s laundry day,” he mumbled.

“Who gave them to you?” He asked, tugging at the elastic and giggling.

Luke tipped his head back and sighed. “Aren’t we supposed to be having sex?”

“Was it your mum?” Michael asked, laughing and taking the opportunity to attack his neck with kisses and small bites. (He knew his own neck hadn’t recovered from all the lines in it so he took to devouring Luke’s neck in lieu.)

Luke groaned. “It was a gag gift from Ashton,” he said.

Michael laughed, too hard to kiss well, and he was still getting used to not coughing after laughing. He hadn’t coughed in a while and that was really his ultimate goal with a lung transplant.

“Now,” Luke said, “are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Maybe if you say please,” Michael teased.

“ _Please_ fuck me?” Luke simpered.

“That’s more like it.”

And they did. With Luke on top taking the brunt of the work because Michael was still confined to mild or moderate exercise and he wasn’t sure that all that thrusting would be okay on his incision and with his weakness, they had sex slowly.

Luke leaned down, sweating and panting, his cock strained up against his stomach, and kissed Michael hard. He rolled his hips and both of them whined into the kiss, Michael pulling away to catch his breath.

“I love you,” Luke whispered.

Michael groaned, gripping Luke’s thighs and reaching up to pump Luke’s cock. Luke whined as he came across his stomach and Michael moaned, tipping his head back as he came. Luke climbed off him and laid down, sighing.

“You clean up,” he mumbled. “My legs are jelly.”

Michael chuckled and kissed his cheek, going to the bathroom and getting a washcloth. He cleaned off his own stomach and came back to Luke, spread out on the bed looking spent and fucked out. Michael sat, crossing his legs under him, and he ran the washcloth over Luke’s stomach to clean up the come. Using a clean side, he reached up under Luke’s fringe and wiped at his sweaty forehead.

“I love you,” Michael whispered, leaning over and kissing his nose.

Luke opened his eyes and looked up at him. “I love you, too.”

Michael smiled and kissed his forehead, tossing the washcloth into his laundry basket and snuggling down into the blankets with him. Luke touched his cheek, the two of them rapidly cooling down from their escapade but still too warm to climb under the blankets.

“I’m really glad that you’re still around,” Luke murmured. “You almost died like, three times.”

Michael nodded and held his wrist, kissing his wrist.

“I was really, really fucking worried,” Luke whispered. “I thought you were going to die.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Michael said.

Luke chuckled and turned his head into his pillow and it took Michael a few silent breaths until he realized Luke was crying.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He whispered.

“God, I don’t know,” Luke whispered, pulling his head up. “Just – after sex emotions? But I guess it just kind of made it real that you’re still here and you’re okay.”

“I’m here and I’m okay,” Michael assured him, brushing a hand through his hair.

Luke half-sobbed, half-laughed and kissed him. “And I couldn’t be happier or love you more.”

“Impossible,” Michael smiled. “I love you most.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, in its entirety, is the fibrofic. two years after it was started, i have finally goddamn finished it. thank you for your patience and i'm sorry it took me so long to get here

Michael ran for the bus, breaking into a sprint when the bus stopped at the corner. He only had a few more feet to go and he was running late but for God’s sake, he needed to catch this bus. He was the last person to hop onto the bus, panting, and he paid his fare before taking a seat. In a minute or two, his breathing returned to normal and, even though it had been years, it still shocked him that he didn’t dissolve into a coughing fit.

His phone buzzed and he looked at it.

 _Ashton_  
2:01PM  
are u on ur way yet I am freaking out

Michael tapped out a reply, saying that yes, he was on his way, stop freaking out. He was helping Ashton set up a party for Calum, who was coming back from his residency in Canada where he studied addiction and addiction treatment. In Vancouver for two years, Calum only came back for Christmas, trading his scarves and “toques” for shorts and tank tops. Ashton went to visit him whenever time allowed and Luke and Michael went a couple of times as well when they were on winter break and Calum was basking in the sun.

(For Michael, the best part was walking along the Sea Wall with Luke and Calum and Ashton and not having to stop to catch his breath a billion times. The best part was walking along the beach and the freezing cold water lapping at their feet. The best part was walking along Davies street, with the crosswalks painted with pride colours.

“You know if we got married, it would be legal here,” Luke said.

“Oh my God, you guys, Luke just proposed!” Michael teased and they all burst into giggles.

“We could elope if you wanted to,” Luke murmured.

“Are you actually trying to propose to me?” Michael asked, his fingers going cold.

Luke snorted. “Only if you want this to be an actual proposal,” he said.

“Let’s do something fancy when we get back home.”

“Okay.”)

The bus pulled to a stop and Michael climbed off the bus, thanking the driver and walking over to Ashton’s apartment. Ashton buzzed him in and Michael walked to the elevator because Ashton lived on the twentieth floor and that was just asking for aching legs and sweaty underarms. And he was wearing a nice shirt to welcome Calum back to Sydney.

Ashton had told Calum he couldn’t get the day off work, that two of his coworkers were out with injuries and that three had already called in sick so here he was, stuck in retail hell while his boyfriend _came home from the other side of the world_. Ashton somehow managed to cry on Skype with him while Calum nodded understandingly and said that well, they would just see each other when Ashton got home from his ten hour shift of hell.

It was bullshit.

Ashton had spent the day putting up streamers and buying crisps and fizzy drinks and alcohol. Michael and Luke had been sent many a Snapchat of Ashton asking if the streamers looked better curled or twisted and if it was uncouth to use mismatched bowls for all the crisps or if he should just scrap the Miss Vickie’s. Luke actually had work but he got off right before Calum was set to land and of course, they had all been monitoring his flight, all sixteen hours of it.

Michael knocked on Ashton’s door, which was draped in a “WELCOME HOME!” sign to remind Calum which apartment was Ashton’s, in case he had forgotten. Ashton opened the door, in a tank top and shorts, and his hair messy.

“Hey, come in,” he said.

Michael came in, peeking at the shoe organizer and seeing that Ashton had hidden his work shoes. “Hey. Good job, hiding your work shoes.”

“Oh thanks,” Ashton said distractedly, heading into the living room. It was hidden by a bookshelf and a well-placed wall, which would give the illusion that there was no one home when really everyone was home and waiting for Calum.

Michael followed, shoes on so that Calum wouldn’t be suspicious about the amount of shoes by the door. “It looks fine in here, Ash, why are you still working?”

“Because… I don’t know, I’m just nervous,” he said. “Calum has been gone for two whole years. And now he’s finally moving back in with me. It’s just… it’s scary.”

“Are you worried you won’t… love him anymore?” Michael asked.

Ashton shook his head. “No, I know I love him. I know it’ll be different. I know he’ll get a job here and his hours will suck and it’s going to be so weird because he’ll be jetlagged. But I think I’m just so excited that I’m nervous, you know? Like, before you do something big like propose.”

Michael smiled. “Are you guys ever going to get married?”

“Yeah, eventually,” Ashton said, ducking his head before looking back up and levelling his gaze. “When will you and Luke tie the knot?”

“When we’re good and ready, thanks,” Michael grinned.

Ashton snorted. “Okay, then that’s when Calum and I will get married as well, then.”

“Not on the same day, though right? I’d hate to share my big day.”

“Okay, not on the same day. And I’ll give you guys some time to honeymoon.”

“Perfect,” Michael smiled.

They set up more streamers and Michael helped Ashton vacuum and make the kitchen look halfway presentable and everything was where it was supposed to be, to Calum’s standards. They set everything up and they bought enough alcohol to make a linebacker pass out and they put the champagne in the fridge.

Luke arrived after work, still in his “work clothes” and still smelling of his office, with coffee and calculators, and they sat snuggled on the couch with the lights off waiting to see Calum’s taxi. When they saw it, they all hid in the darkest corner of the living room and waited, all of their hearts pounding as they waited.

Michael coughed.

“Michael!” Ashton hissed.

“I’m sorry!” He whispered. “It isn’t my fault! You’re the one who invited someone with CF to your goddamn surprise party.”

“Shut up,” Luke whispered, pushing both of them so they only grumbled and stopped making noise.

(Years on from his transplant, little symptoms of chronic rejection were peeking through but he was good. He had mountains of pills to take in the mornings and he was still a regular face at the CF clinic, but he could breathe and laugh and run without having to stop and cough so hard he vomited half the time.)

The door opened and they crouched down further under the couch, listening to the door close. Calum was home. He kicked off his shoes, messy as always, and fumbled with his bags as he came into the apartment. He turned on the hall light and the three of them, hidden behind the couch, moved further into the shadows as they waited for Calum to come into the living room.

Ashton’s phone lit up on the couch with a call from Calum and each of them tensed before they remembered they had all turned their phones on silent. Michael watched it go dark.

Calum spoke. “Hey, babe, it’s just me,” he said to Ashton’s answering machine. “Uh, I got home safe. I liked the little welcome home sign on the door, that was really cute, thank you. And uh, if I’m asleep when you get home from work, wake me because I miss you like crazy and I’m really glad I’m home. I love you so much, okay? Be safe on your way home.”

 _Click_ and it was over and Calum started walking into the living room. Michael watched him stop and stretch and Ashton poked him. Michael squeezed Luke’s hand and the three of them stood and shouted, “surprise!”

Calum flinched and yelped and looked at them, letting his breath out and breaking into a smile that was so wide it could crack his face.

“What the fuck!?” He yelled as Ashton climbed over the couch and into his arms. “You fucking liar! You asshole!”

Ashton laughed and wrapped his arms around Calum. "I wanted to surprise you," he said, laughing.

"Fuck you!" Calum whispered, burying his face in Ashton's neck.

"He's crying," Luke laughed, taking Michael's hand.

Michael took a breath, unobstructed, and smiled. Everything was right in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think with kudos, comments or come chat on my tumblr (mochalou.tumblr.com)


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